The Hairstylist
by Zighana
Summary: Vaas "employs" a hairstylist and forms a bizarre dynamic with her. Vaas/OC, AU, violence, foul language, sexual themes, slight kink.
1. Chapter 1

**The Hairstylist**

 _Vaas "employs" a hairstylist and forms a bizarre dynamic with her. Vaas/OC slow burn, AU_

"Fuck!" shouts the disgruntled pirate in the privacy of his hut. The limited sunlight becomes his only valid light source as he looks at himself in the mirror. There, leaking blood, is a gash on the side of his head. A bloodied paring knife clutched in his other hand, a sliver of skin and hair dangling off the piece. Hissing with discontent, he applies a soothing salve on his gash, ignoring the sting. It's hard to when his chest aches with each movement; he needs to change the bandages every few hours to cease infection. The phantom pain of blade piercing flesh stings him; if he sees Jason again on the island, he'll make sure to put at least three bullets in his skull. He's conflicted; he doesn't know whether to thank Jason or kill him for all he's done. Hoyt's dead, Citra's dead, and nearly over half of his men dead and a large chunk scattered to join the Rakyat. The island had been in chaos ever since Vaas had been injured and presumed dead; the Rakyat have regained power, but with the death of Citra there has been anarchy over order. The ones that actually attempted were swiftly killed or disappeared without decent explanation.

Vaas wound up coming back to the Rakyat Islands; he may be injured and weakened, but he knew these islands and the culture like the back of his hand, he's the remaining blood relative of Citra, and he's never afraid to be ruthless. He whipped the men into shape and anyone who dared to question his authority would be quickly put to death.

It's a hollow victory; his comrades dead, his injuries almost fatal, the loss of the closest thing to a father figure to a California white boy with entitlement issues, the death of his final remaining family member…all weighing him down. It feels too quiet, too empty; no amount of drugs and sex are enough to drown out the reality he's facing each day. Every single day, it becomes the same: wake up, hunt, fuck, get high, sleep, start over. Sometimes there's not enough drugs; he's forced to reflect in the darkness of his bunker, voices and memories flashing and booming in bright colors and loud noises. He remembers Citra's laugh when she was little, the smile of Hoyt after he killed someone for him, the warm metal of Jason's gun as he puts it close to his head.

" _Take me into your heart! Accept me as your savior! Nail me to the fucking cross and let me be_ _ **REBORN**_ _!_ "

" _We are so fucked, Jason._ "

" _Did I ever tell you, what the…definition…of insanity is?"_

" _Insanity…is doing the exact, same fucking thing…over and over and over again, expecting…shit to change."_

His words echo back at him, almost in a mocking manner. Each moment plays back in full force and vibrant color, reminding him of his own form of insanity. He and Jason keep trying to kill each other, over and over and over again, expecting one of them to die. Jason was so close, so close to breaking the cycle, until Jason missed his heart; miraculously, no vital organs were hit and Vaas is alive, forced back into the never-ending cycle. Jason got out and left him behind; Vaas will forever hate him for that. He's stuck on this island, stuck repeating the cycle until he keels over from old age or someone brave enough decides to put him out of his misery.

He looks over at the blade that started it all, the blade that Jason used to take him out. He picks it up, never taking his eyes off the dried up blood and gore from his flesh that clings to the blade.

He should finish where Jason left off.

There's nothing left; with Hoyt gone the human trafficking ring is weakening, and the remaining marijuana crops aren't enough to ship overseas. The only doctor has died by Citra's hand; there's no doctor on the island to patch up anyone or stave off infection anymore. There's no one on the island he knows or tolerates; he's a stranger to many, a threat to some, and a shell of what he used to be, before and during Hoyt's stay on the island.

He lifts the blade, the tip pressing against his healing flesh. With a count of three, it'll be over; he'll be set free and will be off this goddamn island…

"Vaas! We got a few live ones!"

He slowly lowers the blade, sighing deeply. He crams it into his sheath and leaves his hut.

There, on the island shore, are a group of victims, scared and surrounded by the Rakyat. Their look of terror and confusion gives him a slight sense of satisfaction.

"They came in from a boat." One of them explained Vaas looks to the sea and sure enough, black smoke and the tip of a boat sinking into the abyss is all the confirmation he needs. He walks to the victims, mentally counting the number and calculating their fates. One of them would look profitable in Yemen, the other seems useless, and the other three have a bright future becoming some of the Rakyat's whores. His eyes settle on the last one and he frowns.

It's a plump woman, on her hands and knees, face caked with makeup and her once perfect hair drenched in water, pieces of it starting to tangle. Her clothes look expensive, along with the costume jewelry now making her skin green as it graces her neck. Slung over her shoulder is a satchel which its contents spilled out. He sees her wallet, her phone, her keys, and a straight razor knife, tucked away neatly and shining in the sun. He picks up the possible weapon, inspecting it closely. There was no blood on it, nor has there ever been blood on it; either she uses that blade for show or she's never gotten the chance to use it on someone. He glides his finger over the blade and is amused when a thin line of blood comes out. Still sharp. He pockets it and rifles through the wallet for information.

Dominique Price. Age 23. Born February 20th, 1989. Occupation: Hairstylist at Kinky Cuts Boutique in Berkeley, California. Ethnicity: African-American. Phone number 555-555-9086.

He smirks.

"Dominique Price, from California." He announces. He crouches down and holds her chin, forcing her to make eye contact. Her mascara-streaked face looks at him, her once fearful expression turning into confusion.

"I'm getting real fucking tired of you Californians." He huffs. "I never even went to the fucking state and already I want to…"

"Please, sir. We never meant to come near your island and we don't mean any…"

"Shut. Up." Vaas' gun now graces her cheek. "Don't be fucking rude and interrupt someone when they're talking. I had a bad fucking day and I'm looking to empty six bullets in someone's skull. Make my day, motherfucker. Make my day."

She gulps. She nods her head and presses her lips together tightly.

"What are you doing with this?" he holds up the razor knife, "you looking to slit someone's throat?"

"I…I cut hair." She answers. "I'm a hairstylist. I use that knife to shave people's beards and the occasional…scalp."

"You ever cut someone?"

"No, sir. I pride myself of not injuring any of my clients."

"Hmm…" he scratches his chin.

"We got ourselves a fucking hairstylist!" he booms. His comrades laugh and raise their guns. He walks over to the group. They look at him in terror, huddling closer.

"I'm a doctor." One of them blurts out. She's a dark-skinned woman with small dreadlocks.

"Bioengineer." The other adds. It's a black man with a Jamaican accent.

"Chemist." A light-skinned woman with tightly coiled hair says.

"Nurse." Another black man adds. His eyes are green and his skin reminds Vaas of the skins of coconuts.

"Cook." A brown skinned woman with loose curls says, clutching on to the Chemist.

"Well, look at that. All of you are fucking useful." Vaas puts his gun back in the holster. Just his luck that these people have some use. They're not a group of white American fucks who ride on the coattails of Daddy's money; they are doctors, cooks, and scientists. The only useless one is…

"Dominique."

Dominique jolts.

"Looks like you're pretty useless compared to your friends over here…"

"I cut hair. I have skilled hands with a knife and I hair is very vital to your health."

"Oh, really?"

"A hairstylist makes sure not just your hair is healthy, but you as well. Sir, I have a use. Just, let me show you. I'm a good asset."

The spotlight is on him.

Vaas has two options: kill her or take her up on the offer. Compared to a doctor, a scientist, and a cook (who could possibly make salvageable food), a hairstylist sounds meaningless.

"That gash in your head. You tried to cut your own hair, right?"

"That's none of your fucking business."

"If you had someone to cut your hair, you wouldn't have to worry about hurting yourself. How many times are you going to keep cutting yourself until you hit an artery and bleed to death?"

"Shut the fuck up." The barrel is pressed to her temple. He is in her face now, daring her to say anything or give him a reason to shoot.

"Let me show you what I can do for you." Dominique says slowly and quietly. Vaas then notices the color of her eyes: dark brown and warm. It takes him back to a moment when he was young and when his and Citra's mother was still alive. He can still feel her fingers running through his hair as she cuts it into a Mohawk, smell the soft scent of coconuts and mangoes she always wears.

His eyes lock on to Dominique's hands. They're small and thin, a contrast to her plump figure. He grabs them, feeling the callouses and smooth skin.

She knows hard work.

"Please."

"I'll take you up on the offer." He drops her hands.

"You cut my hair, for the mercy of your friends' fate. You fuck up, or even think about cutting me, I'll kill you and bury them alive with your rotting fucking body. Understand? You want to prove yourself for the sake of survival? You want to put them in danger should you fuck up? Your talents for their freedom. How about it?"

The captive's eyes widen. She inhales sharply, her nails digging into the sand.

"Okay." She nods.

"If I do a good job, will you let me live and keep my friends alive?"

"That's the fucking deal."

"Okay. It's a deal."

Her hand holds out for him to take. Vaas clutches it in a vice grip, grinning at her wincing.

He doesn't know why he's allowing this person to be so close to him while he's vulnerable, but he lets her.

He's sitting in a chair, watching the girl sharpen her blade on a strip of leather. The makeshift soap solution is held in his hand, the slightly artificial smell rendering him high. She glides it over the strip again and walks over to him. Her fingers map out his face and neck, gliding over the stubble that's freshly growing and caressing the scabbing gash on his head.

"What look do you want?"

"Mohawk. Get rid of the neck-beard."

"Tilt your head back, please."

He does.

His Adam's apple points up at the ceiling, his view obstructed by the fleshy globes of her breasts. Her finger traces his Adam's apple; he swallows out of reflex.

He jerks when a refreshing cool caresses his throat. It swirls and tickles, working its way all up to his cheeks. He feels the cold metal and he stills himself.

She's thorough and fast; those small fingers and sharp blade dance across his throat and cheeks with accuracy and delicacy. She gently pushes his head forward and the refreshing cool comes back across his scalp. The blade slices through hair and dances around his gash. She grabs a rag and strokes his face, eyes narrowed and focused. She steps back and holds up a mirror.

Vaas admires himself in the mirror; she did a pretty good job; he'll give her that. His fingers skim over his face and couldn't believe how smooth his face is; it feels like a baby's ass!

"What do you think?" Dominique's voice cracks through the silence.

"You're pretty good." He sets down the mirror.

"You live to see another day."

The girl deflates.

He walks the girl out of the hut, his comrades standing at attention.

"The girl stays. Keep the doctor, nurse, and cook. Send the rest back to the States. If they try to rebel, kill them. make sure they never know where they're going so in case the fuckers try to come back, they won't know where to go."

"Y-you said that you'd set them free."

"I said I'd let them live. Are you going to question my fucking rules? You calling me a liar?" he slams her against a tree, blade digging into her cheek. She furiously shakes her head. He laughs.

"I'm going to chill…I'm going to relax. Because you, _moi_ , and," he whistles, "some of your little friends, are going to have a lot of fun together. I got myself a fucking hairstylist for _free_. I feel like a movie star or some shit, you know? And we got a doctor, a nurse, and a fucking cook who can help with my island tenfold. Like I hit the fucking jackpot."

Perhaps, fate had other plans in mind. Maybe he can have another shot at breaking the cycle of insanity.

He grins.


	2. Chapter 2: Conversations in the Day

**Conversations in the Day**

When Dominique took those personality quizzes where one of the questions would ask, _'if you were stranded on an island and could only have three items, what would it be?'_ , and she'd answer _'lip balm, brush, and mascara'_ , she wasn't aware of life's twisted sense of humor. As she holds her lip balm, brush, and broken tube of mascara, she can feel herself shaking her head at the pure irony of it all. Even though she's at the mercy of unforgiving lands and violent natives, she can at least count on her hair looking lush and her lips forever moisturized and soft.

"Brighten up, Princess. Put that shit away and get to work."

Mentally rolling her eyes, she places the items on the ground and grabs the fresh bowl of shaving cream she made.

A pirate sits in the chair, the bandana secured on his face, his hair wild and in desperate need for moisturizer. She doesn't bother asking him to take off the bandana; many of them are adamant about not revealing their face, despite the pragmatism of no one even knowing their names or remembering what they look like.

"What would you like?" she begins.

"Trim the hair, fade out the sideburns."

She wants to tell him that it requires electronic razors to do such a request but says nothing.

"Lie back."

He does, the bandana's tip being pushed away so it won't interfere with the man's breathing. She takes a strand of hair and slices it with ease. She repeats the action until the hair has been cut close to the scalp. She runs her fingers over the small peek of hair that lies over the bandana. She does her best and holds up the mirror.

The pirate gives a gruff nod and leaves without so much as a thank you.

"You're welcome," she calls out bitterly; she can't believe how rude some of these people are.

She sweeps up the hair and discards it into the trash bin she made out of an old barrel she found. After checking to see if she has any… _clients_ to grace her doors, she makes her way to the entrance and sit out on the stoop, the warm breeze blowing through her hair.

"Hey, Princess!"

She looks up. The leader of the crew stands behind her, gun in his hand and a wicked smile on his face.

"Is this a fucking vacation resort to you? A break time where you look out into the ocean like a fucking white girl? This isn't time to ponder about whether you'll wear pink or blue nail polish. Get off your ass and make yourself useful. Before I change my mind about letting you live."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Fuck if I know. My room needs a little cleaning. A womanly touch. Make it look nice when I get back, yeah? And go find the Cook and help her prepare something for my men when you're done."

"Okay Mister…?"

"Mister!" he barks with a laugh, "I'm not that much older than you yet you call me Mister! I should have you call me Master, but that would be awkward. So I guess you'll call me Vaas. Vaas Montenegro, the king of this fucking island. Shall you kiss my pinky ring?"

He holds up his dirtied, bandaged, finger out to Dominique's lips.

"Kiss it," he orders.

Swallowing her disgust, her lips grace the bandage.

"Alright! Away with you! I got people to see, assholes to torture and kill, places to go, fuck-ups to handle. Ta-ta, bye-bye."

Vaas makes a kissy face and jogs off into the distance.

"Wait! Where is your room?" Dominique hollers after him, but he's far from ear shot.

"Some help you are, asshole," she mutters under her breath.

She scans her surroundings, and frowns. This place is littered with foliage, pirates, and desperation. She debates whether to ask one of them where Vaas sleeps, but decides against it. He may be crazy, but he's not stupid; if he's the head honcho of the island, he wouldn't be dumb enough to just let _anyone_ know where he rests his head. And besides, none of these pirates seem trustworthy, especially with the very distinct male to female ratio.

She's stuck: if she doesn't get help finding the place, she wouldn't clean this man's room and last thing she needs is a bullet in the ass for getting lost. If she asks for help, there's a chance of her getting raped and possibly killed. Let's see: rape and murder, high chance of being mauled to death by a wild animal in a forest should she get lost. Decisions, decisions…

"Dominique!"

She turns around. There, in the flesh, is Anika: dirty, sweaty, and elated. She runs and hugs her, her dreadlocks smelling faintly of gunpowder and alcohol.

"I'm so glad you're alive! I haven't seen you in forever!"

"It's been at least 48 hours."

"Time moves slower when you're forced into putting your medical skills to use."

"Where's Carmen and Mike?"

"Carmen is with a Rakyat in the forest finding spices and Mike is tending to a child 3 miles from here. She's coming down from a fever and there's a chance she won't make it."

"Oh. That sounds…nice?"

"What have you been doing?"

"Cutting pirates' hair."

"Sounds cool. Saw what you did with the leader. You shaved off 10 years."

"Thank you."

"So, I heard you needed help around the island. You know where to go?"

"I need to go to Vaas'…room. Wherever that is. And then I need to help Carmen in the kitchen."

"Vaas…? He's uh…he lives in…follow me."

Anika walks into the abyss of the forest, with Dominique trailing after.

The trees gave way to a village that lies below an old, well-preserved temple, surrounded by foliage and strange men in tattoos.

"He lives in the temple with the remaining members of the Rakyat. They said a foreigner came and killed the previous leader and caused the deaths of thousands. They're still reeling from the effects. It helps if you don't come off… _too American_."

Rolling her eyes, she makes her way to the Rakyat. They immediately point their spears at her; she holds her hands up in response.

"Um…Excuse me? Sirs? I need to go to Vaas' room for some…housekeeping? If I don't clean his room and help get dinner started by the time he gets back, I think you know what's going to happen to me and I want to live."

The Rakyat look at each other, and with a grunt, they let her gain passage.

"Fifth room, front and center." She begins her trek, but feels a spear poke into her back,

"No weapons. That includes the razor blade."

She forgot she even had it.

"Sorry. Here." She hands it to one of them with a thin smile. A Rakyat tails behind her, his expression unwavering.

"Fargo will guide you to Vaas' room. He'll make sure you won't wander off into the wrong room. Some of them…are _booby-trapped_."

She gulps.

"Thanks for the heads up."

He grunts.

* * *

Finding Vaas' room was a lot easier than expected; from the littered corpses of pirates and the empty bottles of cheap liquor scattered all over the ground, it revealed a room that oozed violence, drugs, and the beginning signs of psychosis. The place was a mess: broken furniture, blood smears on the walls, guns and knives carelessly placed everywhere, bullets and bullet-holes decorating the shelves. The only unscathed dresser has missing drawers and the top of it is littered with cocaine, marijuana, and a small pouch of smack. The saving grace was the bed, but it was filled with paper and junk she couldn't tell whether to keep or to trash. She swipes it off the bed and sees a porno magazine with a few pages stuck together and she gags in disgust; she pinches the book's edge with her thumb and index and throws it across the room.

She's going to have her hands full.

* * *

Dominique collapses on her hands and knees, panting heavily and oozing sweat through her Spanx and denim dress.

Against all odds, that nightmare has been thoroughly cleaned with a rag, some alcohol, and her bare hands. Bed is made, weapons carefully placed on the dresser in orderly fashion, paper and _'reading material'_ have been stacked up nice and neat on one of the shelves. The dresser has been untouched for the most part; last thing she needs is a contact high or to be killed if Vaas gets paranoid and assumes she's been dipping in his supply.

Giving one last look of it, she's satisfied. She stands up and is about to leave when the bed caught her eye; underneath the bed, there was a corner of paper sticking out. Curious, she picked it up.

It's a photo of a boy and a girl, no younger than seven, smiling their brightest smiles while holding mangoes. They look like brother and sister; their eye color matches and the way they stand so close to each other is another tell, despite their varied skin color. The boy, with his curly black hair almost covering his eyes, standing tall and barefoot, wearing a dirty red t-shirt and weathered cargo shorts, contrasting with his slightly darker-skinned sibling with a wild bush of hair forced into two pigtails, wearing a t-shirt two sizes too big, her tiny feet poking out through the fabric. On the back, in crude handwriting, are the words ' _Happier Times, 1992'_.

Her fingers skim over the girl, and then the boy, mesmerized by how sweet he looks. He looked like the one who would open doors for ladies, say please and thank you, would reward good behavior with hugs and toothy smiles.

What happened to that little boy?

Pushing the thoughts away, she tucks the photo back under his bed and makes her way out of the temple with Fargo trailing after.

She needs to help make dinner before King Asshole comes back.


	3. Chapter 3: Mommy Issues

**Mommy Issues**

Vaas wipes the blood onto the fabric of his cargo jeans. His victim howls in the distance, his bloodied mouth garbling out obscenities and pleas of mercy that he knows he won't give.

"We're going to do this one more fucking time, okay? And believe me, amigo, I really, really, _really_ , hate repeating myself." Vaas sets down the pliers. Teeth decorate the ground beneath him, evidence of his method of interrogation.

He's not fucking around; there had been recent rebellions that have torn areas of the island into war zones. After Hoyt's death, there has been fights regarding the division of power and so far Vaas is having none of it. His crown is mighty heavy this time around; as usual, Hoyt leaves behind a mess for him to clean. If he was alive, he'd muster up the strength to kill him himself.

The man tries to speak, but it comes out distorted because he's spitting out mouthfuls of blood.

"Shh…don't talk. We can find other ways to communicate, yeah?"

The victim moans in pain.

"Trust me, amigo, I'm an understanding guy. I'm not fucking crazy, you know. How about we play a game: You scream for yes, shake your head for no. Let's try it: does it hurt when I do this?"

His thumb pushes in the bullet wound; the man screams in agony.

"See? You're getting the hang of it! How 'bout it?"

* * *

Vaas leaves the interrogation compound, wiping the blood and gore from his hands off a filthy rag. The man was weak; he died from the pain before he could even get a few valid answers. That's okay; he's got a few more fuckers lined up; all it takes is for one fuck-up and soon he'll get down to the bottom of it.

But right now, he could do for a beer and some food.

* * *

He makes it back to his turf and is greeted by the familiar smells of spices and roasting meat. The Rakyat eye him with fear in their eyes, scrambling to get out of his way; they know better. He comes to the common area where the kids have gathered to dance and sing, flashes of his youth greeting him. He turns around and finds the hairstylist and the cook stirring something in a pot, the hairstylist then moving to turn over some charred pork, her hair tied taught with a rag of sorts.

Seeing women cooking dinner and him not having to scavenge is a pretty good change.

He whistles.

The women freeze and stand at attention, erect and unsure.

"California girl!" he greets with a grin.

"I can't wait to see what you've prepared for me, yeah? I've had a long fucking day and I can't wait to have some food that's got a…a womanly touch."

The darker-skinned woman with the loosely curled hair stiffens.

"Y-y-yes, sir. I've prepared a seafood stew with barbecued pork in a coconut and mango glaze, with…rice and beans. I hope the meal is to your liking."

"Thank you…uh…"

"Carmen, sir."

"Carmen! Now, Carmen, I hope your little friend here helped you and made sure you didn't slave over a hot stove alone…?"

"Oh, no! She's been a very helpful assistant. She even helped prepare the pork."

"Good, good. Dominique!"

Her eyes widen and her eyebrows narrow.

"I can't wait to see what you've done with my room. I've been looking to eat and lie back in a freshly made bed, no?"

"It's…clean. I was on my hands and knees scrubbing at the…mess."

Vaas nods his head.

"Come. I want to see what you've done with it."

Dominique swallows deeply.

"Okay."

* * *

When Vaas enters his temple, he notices the smell of death isn't as strong; it's masked with the smell of cheap vodka he pilfered from Hoyt's crew weeks ago. He makes his way to his room and is somewhat satisfied.

Bed made, walls wiped down, drugs untouched, weapons and ammo neatly stacked and tucked away, his porno mags shelved away like valid reading material.

"You did a nice job, girl. Maybe you're useful after all." He flops down on his bed.

"Thank you." Dominique answers, hands behind her back.

"Come here." Vaas pats the bed.

Her eyes widen.

"I'm not going to ask you again, California girl. Or do you want me to come over there and…?"

She sits on the bed with him.

"Did I ever tell you what the…definition of insanity is?"

"No."

"Insanity…is doing the exact…same fucking thing…over and over and over again…expecting shit to change." He grabs a strand of her hair and tucks it behind her ear.

"This whole fucking island is insanity. It's like…we're…we're doing the same thing over and over and over again, you know? Same shit, different day; people die, some California white boy tries to play hero and he always comes back like a fucking cockroach…the fucking cockroach you swore you killed time and time again. Only this time, he's killed your sister, gutted you like a fucking fish, and left like a coward.

"I figured…why the fuck not? Why not put an end to my misery, escape the insanity? Then you and your California friends, come on my fucking island with your big ass boat, your loud music, your fucking liquor and your obnoxious American ways. At least I can respect that you're not trying to play hero, that you're actually fucking useful."

He grabs her hair and pulls her head back. She yelps, trying in vain to pry his hands away, but no avail. Vaas hooks his other arm around her neck and slams her against his chest on the bed, the smell of sweat, denim, and fear wafting in his nose. Dominique thrashes and tries to elbow him, but connects to nothing. She's kicking, screaming and flailing, trying to get him off her; it makes Vaas chuckle.

"You ain't going nowhere; you think you're the first person I had in this position? I could just snap your neck, Dominique. Just like that."

He jerks her head to the side.

"No! No, please, stop!" she shouts. She starts to buck, her face wet with freshly streaming tears.

"I'm going to tell you right now; begging and fighting won't do you any justice."

That did the trick. She falls slack against his body, the soft flesh molding into him.

"Please," she sobs, "please, please, please…not like this. Not like this."

Vaas says nothing; her soft body becomes comforting to him. How long has it been since he held someone this close? It's been so long since he had a womanly touch, a touch that feels familiar and soothing. She's so warm, soft, and her hair smells faintly of artificial coconuts and pineapples; must be the hair products she uses. His hand slides free from her hair and instead cups her curvy middle.

Her begging fades out into white noise; he drifts off into a memory of when he would embrace his mother on a daily basis, before Hoyt and his members came and pillaged them. he remembers the look in her eyes as Hoyt shot her point blank in the head, right in front of him.

He clutches her tighter.

" _Sorry I shot your mama, Bambi. But the bitch should've done what I asked. Now, either you make yourself useful and work for me or you can die with her."_

 _Hoyt aims the gun at him._

" _Make your choice, child. I don't have all day."_

"Mama," he whispers against Dominique's hair.

" _Mama, forgive me._ "

The body on top of him is wracked with sobs.

"Please, please, please…"

" _I should've died with you instead. Maybe, Citra and I would've been saved._ "

"Oh, God…I don't want to die…"

"Shh…shut the fuck up for a second, okay?"

He strokes her middle.

She stifles her sobs and instead convulses.

Vaas holds her for a few seconds more, breathing in her scent.

"You remind me of my mother, you know? With your big, doe-like eyes. They're even the same shade of fucking brown. Fuck, man. I wonder if this is fate's way of telling me something. Telling me to…to…to right my fucking wrongs by her. Maybe that's why I can't kill you so easily, even if I wanted to."

More shuddering and hiccups.

"I'd do anything for her, you know? Kill, steal, hunt, fight, protect. It was enough for her, but not enough for Citra. No, no no no no no _please_ , nothing was enough for Citra. Give her a fucking inch and she wants the whole mile!" his grip tightens.

"I warned that white boy. I told him he was fucked; she wanted him to take my place in that fucked up ritual, those fucked up traditions. My own fucking sister, man. Those fairy tales have been fucking with her head, those goddamn drugs those witch doctors put her on have really fucked her up. She wasn't the baby sister I helped raise; she turned into a fucking monster who's obsessed with folklore that ain't even real.

"The sad part is, after everything she put me through, after all the shit I've sacrificed for her, I still love her. She was family. She was all I had left…she was all I knew back then. I'm empty, you know?"

She stiffens. Vaas takes it as she's understanding.

"Do you believe in fate, hermana?"

"N-no."

"Of course you don't. You Americans, man. Always believing in your fancy cars, your useless money, your boring lives." He snorts.

"But here," his hand reaches out to gesture towards the corridor, "fate is real. Magic is real. Destiny is so real it's staring at you in the fucking face. This island, man. This island will never leave you. You will never leave this island, no matter how many times you try."

He laughs bitterly.

"Gods know I fucking tried."

He releases her. Dominique shoots up, scrambling to the opposite side of the wall, clutching her neck and massaging her scalp. Her big brown eyes lock onto Vaas in fear, confusion, distaste.

He likes it.


	4. Chapter 4: Fever Dream

**Dinner Time Musings (Fever Dream)**

They never talked about what happened in Vaas' room; Dominique prefers it that way. She doesn't want to remember the feeling of helplessness, of being at the mercy of a man who's got severe mommy issues. She massages her neck in afterthought. She doesn't want to remember how close he was and the way things went down in his room. The way he held her, the way he talked about his past, the way her body easily melted into his, all of it felt too intimate, too personal, too knowing. The fact that she reminded him of his mother was creepy; she doesn't want to think about it too much.

She shudders in afterthought.

Meanwhile, her captor seems to act like nothing had happened; he sits at the center of the dining table like royalty, looking down on his subjects like they were ants. Like _he_ was the one who was slaving over a hot stove to feed hundreds of people. As much as Dominique wanted to say something smart, she knew better. She wanted to live just as much as she wanted to give him a piece of her mind.

"I want to thank these lovely ladies for the food they worked so hard to make," he nods at the two. The Rakyat cheer and applaud. He says something in a language Dominique couldn't understand, and instead observes the way the natives responded. From her deduction, it seems to be some form of prayer.

After the prayer, the natives made quick work of the food. Dominique takes a bite of the pork when she catches Anika's eye. She sits across from her, sipping her beverage and her worried eyes glinting in the fire. The question was loud and clear.

' _What did he do to you?'_

' _Nothing,'_ she mouthed. She didn't want to relive that moment of terror. Anika raises an eyebrow.

' _I'm a doctor, Dom. I can see bruises on your neck all the way from here. Did he try to…?'_

"No," she hisses. A few Rakyat look over to her.

"Sorry," she whispers.

"Another subject at hand is the sleeping arrangements of our new…guests. They have done numerous improvements to the island, have they not?"

Applause.

"A doctor, a nurse, and a cook who's prepared this lovely feast for all to enjoy. Cheer for the three that have helped us all."

More cheering.

"Who would like the task of sharing their home with one of these three?"

It erupts in noise and arguments.

"Hey, hey, HEY!" he fires his pistol. Silence.

"One at a time." He reasons.

"I'll take the nurse. Our family owes him an immense debt for aiding in my daughter's sickness." One pleaded.

"The doctor can stay with us. We live in a small hut with no children. It's enough room to house her."

"The cook can stay with us. I'm the one who knows about the locations of the island's spices. I aided her in seasoning the meat and dishes."

"Good point, Anansi. Cook, you room with Anansi and her family."

Anansi claps a hand on Carmen's shoulder.

"Doc, how's living with Burka sound?"

Anika looks around and sees a couple cheering.

"I accept." Anika says. Under her breath Dominique could've sworn she heard her say, ' _Not like I have much of a choice._ '

"Fargo! You are willing to let the nurse room with you?"

Fargo grunts.

"So all that's left is the hairstylist. Any takers?"

Silence.

"Looks like you're bunking in with me."

Dominique would much rather let the Earth swallow her whole.

* * *

Dominique washes the dishes after the festivities, her hands becoming wrinkly from the constant abuse of water and makeshift soap. Her stomach is twisting in knots as she feels a pair of eyes burning into her spine, making her way down to her backside. She doesn't say anything; she closes her eyes and tries to wish herself away back in her nice warm bed, with the halogen lights shining through her blinds. She can still complain about how…

"You got a big ass, you know that?"

She almost dropped her dish. She whips her head around, cheeks flushed and her hands gripping the plate tightly. He chuckles.

"Finish the rest tomorrow. It's time for bed. Or do you want to stay out all night in the jungle like last time where you almost got eaten by a tiger?"

She swallows deeply.

"Am I sleeping on the floor?"

"You're going to be sleeping in the bed with me."

"…oh."

"Is it a problem? Because you always sleep with Raoul…"

"It's not a problem, Vaas."

"Good!" Vaas claps his hands together.

"Now let's get you settled in."

* * *

Dominique lays on her side, the cold air seeping through the metal cuff wrapped around her ankle. She wants to ask him to take it off but she knows he won't let her. She knows he doesn't want her getting confused about her position. She's his prisoner; not his girlfriend, friend, or guest. For the price of her life and her friends' safety, she's to never forget that simple fact.

She can feel his eyes burning holes in her back.

Does this man ever go to sleep?

She doesn't want to turn around; his eyes look even scarier in darkness. It's like they glow in the night; those eyes will definitely give her nightmares. She arches her back closer to the wall, the cool surface giving her solace against his hot gaze, but it doesn't make Vaas stop. He seems to inch closer, his front almost touching her back.

He really has no concept of personal space.

So she lies there, feeling his breath tickle the back of her neck. She refuses to look at him; she stares at the wall, counting the grooves. When she got to one-thousand-sixteen, she dozes off.

* * *

She dreams she's back in her apartment, in her plush bed listening to the corny love songs on the radio while chewing through generic brand cereal. She dreams of her mother's kisses, her dad's laugh, her sisters' voices, her brothers' loud footsteps. She dreams of boring days and nights where she can predict where she's getting her next meal. Most importantly, she dreams of a life away from a deranged pirate with the shocking mint green eyes…

' _Did I ever tell you…what the…definition, of insanity is?'_

 _No._

 _Anything but that._

 _Anything but…_

Her dream becomes a nightmare; she's back in the jungle, shackled and at the mercy of a black shadow wielding a machete.

"No, no please…" she pleads. The chains are digging into her skin; she feels her blood trickle down.

The shadow doesn't listen; it comes into the light and she sees a white man with strange tattoos, dark brown hair, forest-green eyes that lack humanity, wearing a dirty blue t-shirt with the beige khakis.

"No, not again…please, not again..."

The white man smiles, inching closer.

" _Did I…ever tell you…what the definition…of insanity is?"_ he raises the machete and brings it down.

"Stop…no…please… _Jason, please **STOP**_!"

She screams, her body thrashing and flailing against her restraints. Muffled voices fade in and out, until a sharp pain hits her in the cheek, like she'd been slapped.

She wakes up.

She finds herself back in the jungle, in a hard bed, shackled to a deranged pirate who is looking at her like she's grown three heads. She wipes the sweat from her head and averts her eyes.

"Did you just say… _Jason_?" he asks, his eyes wide like saucers. She tries to control her breathing her to speak.

"I…I don't know."

"I heard you say his name. This wouldn't be a _California white boy Jason_ , would it?"

"I don't know who you're talking about." Dominique bites out, her head throbbing.

 _And I don't want to know,_ she thinks, the distant memory of her screams echoing in her mind.


	5. Chapter 5: Runnin'

**The Hairstylist Chapter Six: Running**

Dominique paces back and forth in Vaas' room, trying to erase the nightmare she's had. She hasn't dreamed about _him_ in months; therapy and the restraining order made sure of that. But there he was, in his filthy blue shirt, those soulless green eyes, and in his hand a knife drenched in her blood…

" _Jason, please stop! I won't tell anyone, I swear!"_

 _Her bruised body being slammed to the mattress, knife pressed firmly against her throat._

 _Jason's eyes scanning over her body, his smile growing even wider._

" _I'm going to kill you, Vaas. This time, this will be different..."_

… _The knife sinking into her shoulder, the rattle of chains as she bucks and screams for mercy…_

"… _Stop, please, please, stop. Jason, it's me. I'm not them, I'm not them…"_

 _Her bolting out of her apartment, bloodied and terrified, pounding on the neighbor's door for salvation, Jason hot on her trail…_

 _Her locking herself away in the bathroom, rocking herself back and forth while the neighbor dials 911…_

" _Vaas! Vaas! Where are you, Vaas?" Jason's voice booms through the thin walls of the apartment over the police sirens…_

"… _You're lucky, Ms. Price. Not many people could survive that many stab wounds and still have the strength to escape…"_

She collapses, tears pricking her eyes. She promised herself that that memory is behind her now, that she can move on.

" _Vaas! Vaas! Where are you, Vaas! You can't run from me forever!"_

His name echoes in her mind. Could it be…?

" _Did I ever tell you…what the…definition…of insanity is?"_

Jason told her those words, while he was…

She holds herself close.

They're connected; they're the same monster.

She's forced to relive her terror for the rest of her days on this island.

For the first time ever since she's gotten on this island, she cries.

* * *

Dominique swirls around the shaving cream when a shadow obscures her vision. Curious, she looks up.

The shadow is revealed to be a well-dressed man with a wild beard and curly hair and circular shades.

"Hello, sir. What cut would you like today…?"

"…trim the beard and fade the sideburns. I want to look presentable and I don't have the time, my dear."

He tucks away the sunglasses. He has striking blue eyes that root Dominique to the ground.

"You speak perfect English. You're not from here, are you?"

"No, sir, I'm not. I happen to be from the United States."

"United States. You must be one of the islands' slaves. I'm astounded at how they would let you free without a leash."

She bites her tongue.

"I'm a hairstylist. People often come to me to tame their hair."

"Explains why some of the villagers look so well-kept. You do fine work, sweetheart. I pray that you don't disappoint…?"

"Not at all. Lie back." She responds tightly, gripping her barber's blade.

"You like to party, sweetheart?"

"No, sir."

"Would you want to?" he pulls up a pouch of white powder for her to grab.

"No…no thank you, sir. I learned that drugs impair my work."

The man tucks it away.

"Smart girl. You're to be trusted. Addicts would sell their grandmother for their next high, but not you. I like that."

His accent sounds…southern.

"Are you from Georgia? Texas? Alabama?"

"Virginia. Not many people guess it right. You must be from the north."

"California."

"California!" he grins. "Home of the beach bodies, tan lines, sand, and the best weed in the country!" he chuckles.

"I've been dying to swing over there for some good weed and some good women."

The knife glides over his neck.

The session is over within minutes; Dominique wipes the knife off on her denim dress and presses the hot towel on his face.

"What do you think?"

She holds up a mirror. The client admires himself in the mirror.

"I like it. You do quite the impressive work, dear. Here."

He crams the white pouch in her hands.

"Consider it payment."

"What am I going to do with this?"

"You got a problem with my payment?"

"…No, sir."

"Good. See you next week." The man puts his sunglasses on and leaves. Dominique inspects the pouch of white powder, debating whether to throw it away or not. She tucks it away in her pocket.

* * *

"Vaas," she calls out. Vaas was cleaning his gun when he notices her.

"What is it, girl? I'm real fucking busy right now."

"I was doing a client's hair and he gave me this," she holds up the white pouch, "I don't know what this is, but I don't want any part of it."

"Dámelo." He holds out his hand. She hands it to him and watches him closely. Vaas dips his pinky into the powder and tastes it.

"Any idea what he looks like?"

"Some…white guy, with brown hair and specs."

"Brown hair and specs, yeah?"

"Yes."

" _Un otro Blanconieves_. Just fucking great."

"What?"

"Nothing. Make yourself useful and help the doctor around in the village. I got some fuck-ups I need to handle." He puts his gun in the holster and storms off.

* * *

"You share a bed with him? He's not…you know…"

"No. he's just…touchy."

"Touchy?"

"He likes to invade my personal space."

"But did he…grope you, or…?"

"No. he just…spooned with me. I guess." Her cheeks started to get hot. As much as she hates to admit it, his body heat felt nice…

The nightmare resurfaces, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

"I had a dream…about Jason again."

"Oh, no, Dom. Do you want to talk about it…?"

"I think…Jason was…here on this island before. I think, he has ties to Vaas. He said his name when he…he…" she shuts her eyes tightly. She won't think about what he did to her; it's in the past and it should stay there.

"You don't think…that psycho was caused by _this_ psycho that lives on the island, right?"

"That's what I'm thinking. I don't know what to do; he even asked me about him."

"I'm so sorry, Dom. I wish there was something I could do."

"I don't think there is, Anika. I just want to go home."

"We all do. That's why Mike and I have been trying to communicate with the outside world. Our families, our friends, they need to know we're still alive."

"How do you do that?"

Anika looks over her shoulder.

"Follow me."


	6. Chapter 6: Higher Times

Higher Times

Vaas slices through a mango with ease, his mind running rampant.

"Hola, Raoul." He greets his comrade. Raoul grunts in response, polishing his gun.

"I found some of the rejects, Jefe. What do you want me to do with them?"

"Where did you find them?"

"In the caverns. They were mass producing a byproduct of the Amanaki mushrooms."

"Huh. What did you do with the product?"

"Locked it away, waiting for you to give the order, sir."

"I'll inspect it. I need to see whether or not we could use that…byproduct. Hoyt's men aren't the smartest when it comes to knowing the mushroom's properties. They probably created a toxin."

"What about the rejects?"

"Bring them to me. I got an idea."

* * *

Dominique was busy sweeping the floor off of hair when someone is thrown face down at her feet.

She screams.

In walks Vaas with two prospective victims held tightly under his arms. He enters the hut and throws the bodies down.

"Dominique!" he announces with a grin. "Meet Traitor #1, 2, 3, and…"

A pirate throws down two more.

"…#4 and 5!" he claps his hands together. Dominique notices the victims are bound and gagged and almost drops her barber's knife.

"Don't be shy, motherfuckers. Don't you know how to act around a lady?"

"What the hell is going on…?" she mutters.

"These fuckers here need to be taught a lesson." He pulls out his gun.

"Tell me, Dominique," he asks, "which one do you want to die first?"

"What?"

"You heard me. Pick one of these motherfuckers you want to die first."

"I…I can't do that…"

"It's easy." He wraps his arms around her from behind, "Eenie, meanie, miney…moe."

Her arm is forced to point. It's one of them in the middle; she cut his hair three days ago. Before she could respond, Vaas fires.

Time seems to slow down; she watches the body collapse, blood pouring out into the ground beneath her.

"See? Easy." He beams up at her.

"Oh, fuck." Dominique feels bile rise up.

"No, no, sweetheart…we still got 4 more to go."

* * *

Dominique sits in the corner in fetal position, shaking like a leaf. Vaas lies back in the chair, hands laced together behind his head.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"…"

"What's the matter? You too good to talk?"

"…You…you just _shot 5 people_ _in front of me_."

" _4_. You shot the first one, remember?"

"I didn't do anything—"

"—You did. You picked out the other three, so that's… _1 person_ I killed."

"I…You…" she deflates and tucks more into herself.

"It feels good getting rid of some fuck-ups. Matter of fact, I could do for a haircut. I feel some stubble coming in."

She grabs the barber knife and prepares the shaving cream.

* * *

"You're awfully quiet. Well, quieter than normal."

"I'm more of a… _listener_ , than a talker." She replies softly. She guides his head back.

"I like that…no, I _respect_ that. That's how you win some clients, yeah? You keep your mouth shut, do your job, soak up all the clients give you?"

"I…I guess." She leans over and runs her fingers over his jawline.

"Your clients…you listen to whatever they say, yeah? What would they tell you?"

"I'm sorry. The relationship between hairstylist and client is confidential. I can't tell you everything that's said between—"

The barrel of Vaas' gun presses against her jugular.

"You tell me everything that's said between your clients. Give me names, motherfucker."

"Hairstylist and client policy. We protect that to the grave." Dominique recites. The barrel jams itself into her neck, the gun cocked.

"Last chance…"

"Hairstylist and client policy, Vaas."

Time stands still.

The gun slowly leaves her neck.

"You're willing to carry your clients' secrets to your grave? I like that. You're loyal. You can keep a secret and you know when to keep your fucking mouth shut." They lock eyes. Dominique gulps.

"So, whatever happens in here stays in here, yeah?"

"That's the code between hairstylist and client. What happens here, stays here."

The gears are turning in Vaas' head. He nods his head.

"Please lie back, Vaas. I need to get that hair like you wanted me to. And can we please…get rid of the…bodies? It makes a… _hostile work environment_."

He laughs.

There will never be a dull moment with her.

* * *

Vaas lies back in the shadows, the jungle being his comfort zone. He's on the prowl tonight; his threats are at their most vulnerable. They are drinking, partying, living _la vida loca_ due to their recent connections in Yemen jumpstarting their human trafficking ring once more. A new boss has become bold enough to come to his island, but Vaas doesn't know who he is. He takes out the jefe, weakens the trafficking ring, dispatches of the remaining traitors, and the last remains of Hoyt's influence will be wiped away from the island. The islands can start over with a clean slate, Vaas can slowly become his old self once more, and the Rakyat can finally live in peace.

The aftermath, however, is up for determination.

He sees his prey, staggering drunk across the village, defenseless.

He swoops in for the kill.

It was pretty easy; sneak up from behind and jam the dagger into the back of his skull. When the body hits the ground, he vanishes back into the darkness.

He feels invigorated; a fresh kill always gives him a rush that cocaine or heroin can't give alone. He needs to take down three more.

The man he killed has been known as a soldier guarding the new boss; the other three are the head honchos of the proposed Yemen human trafficking ring. He's going to have his hands full.

He likes a challenge.


	7. Chapter 7: Clean

**Chapter Seven: Clean**

 **WARNING: Brief nudity!**

* * *

Dominique rolls over on the bed and finds no one's in it. Opening her eyes groggily, she notices Vaas isn't there and groans.

He's the only one with the key, and it's still dark out.

Vaas has been leaving for all hours of the day and night without warning; not that she minded, but it wouldn't hurt if he unshackled her so she could get a glass of water or make a quick trip to the bathroom. She merely flops on her back and stares at the ceiling, praying that the seemingly harmless spider won't land on her face.

A body plops down on the bed, reeking of blood, gunpowder, and cannabis.

Vaas.

"You've been waiting up for me?" his smug voice asks in the darkness.

"No," she rasps, "I need to pee."

"You think I give a fuck? You better hold that shit."

He lies in bed with her, sighing deeply. She turns away from him and faces the wall, daydreaming about her old life. She was about to dose off when he feels an arm sling over her shoulder and stubble on the back of her neck.

"You need a fucking shower. Smell like a turtle tank." He grumbles against her.

"I'm…sorry?" Dominique really doesn't know how to respond. Does she really stink that bad? How long has it been since…?

"You're going to bathe. Tomorrow. And wash my clothes while you're at it, yeah?"

"Where am I…"

"…I'll walk you there. I got some leftover soap and shit that you can use. Don't stray too far or think about running, hermana. I'm not in the mood to go chase you down. Got your word you won't do anything stupid?"

"Where am I going to go, Vaas?"

"…you're smart. I like that."

"Vaas…?"

"This better be a good fucking question. I'm not the one you want to talk to about your dreams and hopes for the future like a little bitch. What. The fuck. Is it?" Sleep is fast approaching the irate pirate; Dominique recants her wish for personal space.

"…Nothing. Goodnight, Vaas."

He grunts in response.

Dominique shifts herself to get more comfortable, Vaas' body heat becoming welcoming. She sighs, her eyes getting droopy, and then, darkness.

A splash of water hits her in the face.

Gasping, she jolts out of the bed, only for the shackle to cut deep into her flesh and yank her back on the hard mattress. Somewhere, through her various curse words and groans of discomfort, he hears Vaas laughing.

"Get the fuck up, Princess. It's time for a bath."

This is by far on the list of the most humiliating things Dominique has ever done, next to getting caught stuffing her bra in the eighth grade on picture day.

There she stands, naked as the day she was born, with her back facing a man who could easily put a bullet in her skull if he wanted to, about to get into water that looks freezing, unforgiving, and brimming with bacteria.

She's going to bathe…right in front of him.

She shudders when she feels those crazed eyes burning holes in her spine and traveling down below.

He can see every scar, every stretch mark, every cellulite and lump of fat that adorns her back, hips, butt, and thighs. She doesn't want to turn around and expose her pendulous breasts, her protruding belly, and the more garish battle wounds adorning her abdomen and chest. She doesn't want him to see her like this; this is definitely too intimate and dehumanizing.

She stifles her tears.

"I got some soap and a rag you could use to get clean. Don't use up all that soap, though. We need that for the clothes."

His voice sounds so mechanical, so detached, it makes her want to crawl back into herself even more. She turns to face him, shielding her breasts away from him. He laughs bitterly.

"You Americans and your modesty! Believe me, hermana, you ain't got nothin' _I_ wanna see. Here." He crams the travel-sized soap and rag in her hand.

"Go on, bathe. I want that smell off you. That's not how a lady is supposed to smell."

Taking the items, she dips her toe in the water. It feels too cold. Why couldn't it be a hot spring? She snaps out of it. She needs to get clean; she can now smell the stink on her. She sinks her foot in the water, then the other, and makes her way in the water until it touches her waist. That's as deep as she's going to go; she doesn't want any surprises sneaking up on her that she can't swim out of. Her body prickles from the temperature; she's shivering and covering her chest area to get warm.

"Suck it up, princess. It ain't even that cold!"

She chatters in response, rapidly working that pitiful piece of soap into a lather and scrubbing at her arms and chest. Damn hearing Vaas' mouth about making it last; she's getting clean and trying to keep warm. She dunks down, her hair floating to the surface. So much for that expensive straightening treatment; she feels her curls coming back. She comes back up and tries to lift her leg to wash at it, only to trip and splash around in the water.

She flails herself above water, gasping for air.

She hears laughter and her cheeks get hot.

"Oh please, don't stop on my account." He laughs some more.

She hears a splash and freezes.

"Relax. I need to get clean too." He grabs the bar of soap from her hand and runs the piece through his hair.

In this moment, Dominique gets a good look at her…employer.

Despite his frightening tendencies, he's not too bad to look at; she could even admit he's handsome, especially with how toned and chiseled his body is…

She stops herself.

She must never forget that this isn't an equal platform relationship; it's captor and captive. He could kill her at any time, sell her friends off for money or kill them right in front of her if she doesn't cooperate. He's a ruthless, cold-hearted killer that gets off tormenting and slaughtering innocent people. He's the closest thing to a monster in her closet, a monster that she shares a bed with for the past 5 nights.

She needs to go home, and right about now, she'll do whatever's necessary to get there, even if it means sleeping with the enemy.

"This is dangerous."

"This is our last shot." Anika bites out, looking over her shoulder anxiously. There, front and center, is Dominique's cell phone, stolen from the pirates' personal vault. With any luck, they'd be off the island before anyone would know it was missing.

The now dirtied, chipped, slightly water damaged phone is now a beacon of salvation for the friends, their last glimmer of hope.

"Fargo and Burka have activated the towers. We should be able to make a call to a nearby embassy and hopefully we can come home." Carmen explained. Anika clears her throat.

"We need everything to go right. One fuck up, and we all die. I'm letting you know right now, there's no turning back. We're getting off this fucking island, even if it kills us." She announces. She holds out her fist.

"All for one."

"One for all." Everyone said in unison, touching fists.


	8. Chapter 8: Doctor's Orders

TH Ch 8

Doctor's Orders

Vaas paces back and forth, trying to stop his teeth from grinding together. The cocaine withdrawals are getting to him; he wants a quick fix but he knows he needs to stay sober until the threats have been eradicated.

The towers have been activated by someone; it's now easy for the enemy to call in reinforcements and tear these islands apart. If he finds out who's responsible, he'll personally pay them a visit with six bullets for their skull. They just made things a little bit harder for the pirate.

The remaining privateers have gotten bold; trying to take over the village that he grew up in? That takes balls. Unfortunately, these city folk privateers didn't fare well with an unforgiving jungle and natives who utilize guerilla warfare. When the natives marched to the temples with heads on spears, Vaas couldn't help but feel prideful.

That white powder Dominique gave is Grade-A Amanaki Mushroom powder, a byproduct of the native mushroom that's been exploited and manufactured. Someone is trying to drug some of the locals in order to loosen the reigns of Vaas' control. It won't do to let that slide.

He recently discovered the identity of the jefe: another white man who had connections to Hoyt and some Colombian cartels back in the 80s. An American at that, to add more to the disgust. The fact that the guero knows his stomping grounds is a threat; Vaas needs to be on his guard at all times. He sent some of his men to guard the villages and train the women, but it could only do so much. The enemy knows him; it's difficult to get too close.

To top it all off, his captives' leashes are being a little too slack; never mind that the Doctor, Cook, and Nurse have served their purpose and helped his island get healthy and well-fed, the Doctor and Cook aren't to be trusted alone.

The Doctor has a little fight in her; she could prove to be trouble and despite Vaas' yearn to kill her, he knows as well as she does that he needs her. She's the only one with the valid medical experience and her use of plants and potions rival that of Dr. Earnhardt; killing her would be suicide. He must let her live, but he can't watch her forever. She's always in the village, tending to an injury here and an illness there; he'll ask Raoul to keep close watch.

The Cook, however, is a tricky one; she may seem docile and submissive, but Vaas can see she's potentially dangerous. She's been in the jungle, learned of the plants for spices, toxins, and the like. She can easily poison his food if she wanted to. Her hanging around the Doctor makes Vaas nervous; he senses a conspiracy in the works.

The Nurse isn't something he worries for; he's neutral, indifferent, and always running errands for the Rakyat. He's calm, collected, and logical; Vaas can count on him not doing anything stupid. On top of that, he has the finest weed in his possession; Vaas never got so high in his life. He's a man with taste; he likes that.

The only non-threat is Dominique; he doesn't understand what kind of person she is. She turns from a damsel in distress to an unwilling confidante to…his bed mate. He shares a bed with her every night these days, always watching her, trying to figure out who's the person he's sleeping with. So far, she's predictable; she hates when he invades her personal space, she's afraid of him, and outside of her obsession with hair and appearances, she's plain. She lacks the Doctor's defiance, the Cook's slight danger, the Nurse's indifference. She's a blank canvas waiting to be painted on, and Vaas wants to be the first artist to lay his brush.

When he saw her scars, however, he learns someone has laid their brush on her already.

Her back has a few; deep marks that were made by a knife of sorts. Like…a butcher's knife.

Her front has the worst of it; someone was stabbing and slashing at her, someone wanted her dead and he doesn't know who.

The most consistent scars are where her organs are…

She's a survivor.

He wants to ask her about her scars and wounds, but he stops himself. It's the past; he doesn't want to dwell on the past like he did before. Right now, he's worried about the present, he lives in the now. All of the ties to the past are slowly being severed…

"So, what's the game plan, boss? How are we going to handle the towers being activated?"

"I'm thinking right now. We need to…fuck!" he feels a sharp pain in his chest.

Blood blossoms through his bandages.

He swears.

* * *

"Hello, Doc. How are you today?" he makes conversation with the doctor. She's busy dabbing a wad of gauze with a disinfecting salve and swipes it on his chest. He hisses in pain and notices the soft twitch of her lips turning upward. She gets a kick out of his discomfort, the bitch.

"Fine, Vaas. I saw to it that your men are healthy and treated a few for STD's. I trust you'll tell your men to practice safer sex?"

"You tell them. They never want to listen to me when they're out in the whorehouses. I'm not their fucking Mama. Let them learn on their own." He waves his hand dismissively. The Doctor ignores him.

"Have you been engaging in…strenuous activity?"

"Stren-you-us activity," he sounds it out and clucks his tongue, "I don't even know what that word means."

"Have you been overworking your body, doing anything that could possibly weaken the tissue struggling to heal and cause it to tear?"

"It's none of your fucking business, doc."

"It actually is. If you tear the tissue again, it will not heal and heighten the chances of infection. When that happens, there's nothing I can do. You'll die slowly of necrosis because you didn't follow the doctor's orders."

"Look, bitch." His eyes narrow into slits, "I have to rule this fucking kingdom and stop fucking outsiders from coming in and killing us all. You don't know that you just came on an island in the middle of war, and shit's hitting the fan. You're not just going to be helping a kid get over a cough…you're going to be tagging bodies." He stands.

"I can't rest. I need to keep bitches in line and let people know I'm not to be fucked with."

"Right." She scribbles something in a notepad.

"Are you and your friends planning to fuck me over?"

She freezes.

That's all he needed to know.

"What gave you that idea?"

"I just got a feeling. Normally when I capture someone and leave them to their own devices, they try something very fucking stupid. Like the fucker that gutted me."

"I'm not…"

"Don't bullshit me, doc. I may not be the smartest, but I know when someone is trying to fuck with me. Believe me, hermana, now would be the time to come clean. Because, I will find out, and you won't like the fucking consequences." His face is in hers now, dagger pressed against her throat and locking eyes with those pitch black orbs. They look so calm, so mysterious. What secrets does she hide?

"I'm not trying to fuck with you. If anything, I want nothing to do with you." Her tone is sharp, unemotional, final.

She's not one to back down; he can respect that.

"Besides, you can't kill me. You need me. I'm the only doctor here. Killing me would be a suicide mission."

"You forget I'm fucking crazy, right? Isn't that what you say about me behind my back like a chicken-shit? You think I'm loco?"

"You may be ruthless and temperamental, but you know better than to croak someone who has saved your men from dying and is a reliable asset. You're crazy, alright. Crazy like a fox."

Time seems to stand still. He gives her the look-over, and chuckles, tucking away his dagger. He lies back on the table and notices her exhale deeply.

She's got a good poker face.

"Are you going to bandage me or not?"

She sighs.

"Lift your arms up for me, please."

* * *

Vaas lies in bed, high as a kite and flipping through his porn magazines. He wishes he had television; this old temple didn't have electricity or outlets.

The Cook had prepared a delicious feast tonight; the children's bellies are full and the parents are calm and serene. Peaceful nights like this set him on edge; there's always something under the surface, something ugly and decaying ready to come through the cracks and distort the image. It reminded him too much of him and Citra when they were young, carefree…

Before Hoyt stepped into the picture.

He exhales, the smoke curling around the magazine pages.

He laughs.

He wants to enjoy his high but he can't; he's still on edge regarding the head honcho, the captives, the aftermath of Hoyt's fuck-ups. He can never rest until everything is dealt with…

His mind wanders off to Dominique.

Is she to be trusted? He's sharing a bed with someone with more than enough reasons to smother him with a pillow when he sleeps. She won't do it; she's too scared of him to even try. But there's something about her that's different, something that he can't place his finger on.

Those scars…

Her nightmare…

" _Stop, please…Jason please_ _ **STOP**_ _!"_

Is the Jason she knows the same Jason he knows?

He remembers the very deep looking scar over her chest; that was the wound that was meant to kill…

That'd be something Jason would do.

Did Jason attack her?

His mind ran rampant: how did she know Jason, what happened between the two, how did a damsel like her survive?

He'll know in time. For now, he wants to kick back and enjoy his high…

"Vaas! Vaas!"

"What the fuck is it? This better be a good one, because you know what happens if you fuck up my high for no fucking reason."

"Vaas…someone went into the vault. A cellphone is missing."

His eyes widen.

"What the fuck did you just say?"

"Someone broke into the vault and took out a cellphone."

"Who was the last person in there?"

"Francis and Akobo, but they have nothing on them. I checked."

"Who was watching the vault last?"

"Fargo and Burka, sir."

The gears are turning.

"Where are they?"


	9. Chapter 9: Hotline Bling

**Author's Note: Before we delve into this new chapter, I just want to thank Muscarie and AmoreDellaLuna for reviewing and keeping up with the story. You the real MVP's. Now on to the next chapter!**

* * *

Chapter 9

Hotline Bling

Dominique and Carmen held each other in the darkness, tears in their eyes. Anika looks out from their hiding spot while Mike dials the number for the embassy to answer. They're so close to going home, close to this nightmare coming to an end…

"It's ringing, shh…" Mike hushes the two. The three crowd around Mike, the rings being their lifeline.

"Hello, US Embassy of…"

"Hello? I am Michael Jameson. Me and my friends are stranded on an island and are in grave danger. We need…"

"Sir, slow down. What is it you're saying?"

"We're hostages. Hostages on an island, where it's inhabited by pirates and drug lords. We're Americans; our families are…"

"What islands are these?"

"I…I don't know. I think these are the…" he looks at an outdated map, "Rook Islands."

"Sir, Rook Islands are uncharted territory. There's nothing we can do to…"

"Please, sir. You're our only hope!" Carmen cries.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. But it's not on our records. It's undocumented. Our hands are tied."

Click.

"No, no, no," Carmen shakes with sobs. Dominique strokes her back, eyes burning.

The US Embassy won't retrieve them.

They're stranded here.

Gunshots break the silence, followed by screams.

"What the fuck is that?" Mike hissed.

"It's Vaas. He looks pissed." Anika assesses, peeking through the slit of their hideaway.

"You want to fuck with me? Huh? You _want_ to _fuck_ with _me_? I mean, you got some huge fucking balls to steal from me! Come out with your hands up, motherfuckers, and maybe I won't have to kill you slowly!"

"Shit! He knows!" Anika ducks down, eyes wide like saucers.

"We've been so careful, what could've…"

"I forgot. He does inventory of whatever's in the vault." Burka whispers.

"We're going to die. We're going to die!" Carmen breaks out into sobbing.

"Shut up, Carmen. We don't want him to hear—"

Gunshots. Bodies are dropping.

"The longer you make me wait, the more impatient I become, hermanos. And I think you know you should never keep me fucking waiting."

"He wants us," Burka says silently. Fargo looks up.

"We come out, slowly, and we'll hope it will be quick. You need to start running and hiding. Once he gets his hands on you, you're going to die."

"No." Anika replies.

"We leave together. We can…"

"Come out, come out, wherever you are…I know you're out here somewhere…I can smell fear."

Gunshot.

Another body drops.

Carmen's stifled screams breaks out in the darkness.

" _Shut up, shut the fuck up_." Dominique presses her hands to Carmen's mouth.

"Come out…Dominique? Doc? I can hear you…"

The group holds each other, trying to stay as silent as possible.

The tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife; the atmosphere's silence is setting Dominique on edge.

Footsteps arrive at the hiding spot.

They slowly leave the area.

Dominique and Anika let out a sigh of relief.

They've been ripped away from their hiding spot one by one; there stands Vaas and his men pointing their guns at them.

"Peek-a-boo, motherfuckers." Vaas grins wickedly.

In the midst of all this terror, a tinny ringtone of an 80s one-hit wonder plays from Dominique's phone.

* * *

"Please, tell me, what gave you the balls? Hm? What gave you the fucking idea that you can fuck with me?"

Dominique, Anika, Carmen, and Mike are bound, gagged, and at the mercy of Vaas and his men. Fargo and Burka were killed not too long ago; they were forced to watch as he tortured, beat, and eventually kill them with a bullet in the head. Their bodies lie at their feet, an omen of what's to come.

They know not to beg; begging will get them nowhere. They instead look onward, praying in unison that their deaths will be swift and quick. Dominique forces herself to not make eye contact with Vaas; he seems to be the most venomous when he locks eyes with her.

"I like you, Doc. I actually liked you." He ruffles her dreads. She jerks her head to the side.

"Nurse, mi amigo, you surprised me. Normally I thought you wouldn't be this fucking stupid. I'm disappointed."

"Cook, I'm going to miss your food. I'm going to regret killing _you_ most of all. That dinner you made last week," he whistles, "was to _die_ for." He chuckles. He makes his way to Dominique, and his expression darkens.

"You, you never cease to amaze me," he crouches down to her and yanks off her gag, his right hand grabbing her curls and twisting. She winces.

"You bargain for your life, you share a bed with me, you clean my room, you bathed with me and did all my men's laundry," he grins, "and you try to fuck me over. Tell me, hermana. What should I do with you? I'll even let you choose how you want to die."

"Fuck you," her tongue slips, "you fucking monster."

"In the face of death, you become feisty." He pulls a knife from his sheath.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you, nice and slow, until you beg me to stop and you're screaming my name in the night." His voice croons in her ear. It sounded low, seductive, like sex. Heat roars deep in her gut and she swallows it down.

"As much as I enjoy having your company, I'm afraid our relationship must come to an end." He stands up and strolls over to Carmen.

He cocks his gun and aims it at Carmen's head.

"No hard feelings-"

A loud explosion throws everyone off balance. Dominique sees smoke and flame eat at the trees above Vaas' head.

"Fuck!" He shouts.

"Get to the fucking village! They're ambushing!"

The men scatter. Vaas looks at them.

"Guess we're going to have to continue this, uh… _chat_ …later, yeah?" the tip of his dagger graces Dominique's nose.

"Don't go running off now." He chuckles, then runs off.

Another explosion goes off; this time it's getting closer to the four.

"We can't just wait here until he comes back. We need to get moving." Dominique wiggles in her chair, feeling the material creak and groan against her weight. She could break this thing with little effort.

Rocking back and forth, she falls to her side, the chair splintering into pieces and the ropes sliding off of her. She gets up, massaging her wrists, and makes her way to free her friends.

"That was a close call. Who could be attacking at this time?" Mike asked.

"Whoever it is, we owe them one." Anika replied.

"C'mon, let's get moving before they bomb this place next."

* * *

Foliage and trees cut into Dominique's skin as she runs, the blanket of nature becoming her cover. She's lost her friends in the chaos; a few of Vaas' men spotted them and in a fit of panic they fled in separate directions. She was close to Carmen, but she vanished in by the river. She prays she makes it out safely; she would be heartbroken if her friend died in their quest for freedom.

She's doing better than expected; Vaas and Carmen inadvertently taught her about the jungle. She armed herself with a sharp stick even; it may not be as effective as a gun but she can stab someone in their neck if they get too close. She sees the sea and breaks out into a sprint. There's a boat there, she could get help, she could—

Someone grabs her from behind and slams her to a tree, their grimy hand stopping her from screaming.

"Drop. The fucking. Stick." The voice orders.

It's Vaas.

"Didn't I tell you not to run? You Americans never want to fucking listen."


	10. Chapter 10: Bargain

Chapter 10: Bargain

Vaas slings Dominique over his shoulder, irritation deep in his conscience.

First his captives try to escape and make his life harder than necessary, now the Jefe decides to get bold and pull a blitzkrieg in the dead of night. To kick it off, his captives have scattered and the only one he managed to pull was none other than the fucking hairstylist that is slowly becoming a pain in his ass. Couldn't he get the doctor, the nurse even, or maybe the cook who has knowledge of healing herbs and salves? No…he gets the remotely useless sack of American flesh that hasn't any experience in the jungle whatsoever.

The Gods have a morbid sense of humor.

He hisses; the gash in his leg is throbbing and inches away from hitting an artery. That machete motherfucker got him good…

"…Oh, my head…where…where am I?"

His headache is coming back.

He should just put a bullet in her and be done with it, but he lost his gun somewhere in the ambush and something in him told him not to. ' _She's useful,'_ his mind reasons, ' _Trust me, she'll be of use to you in the end.'_

"Nice to see you're awake. I hope I didn't hit you too hard in the head." He snarks, tearing into the foliage with his machete.

His captive begins squirming.

"Put me down, let me _go_!" she kicks her legs and pounds at his back. He swats her on the ass.

"Calm your tits. You should be thanking me that I even decided to keep you alive after what you did tonight. I don't even know why I'm letting you live but believe me, hermana, we're not on good terms. You need to shut the fuck up and do what I say, or we die. Comprendes?"

That did the trick. She falls slack, any ounce of bravado she had evaporated. Good; it wouldn't do if she blew his cover.

Ever since the Jefe began attacking, his men have since scattered and many of them were killed. He's been lurking low, snuffing out any privateers that get too close. He needs to take out the Jefe and fast; this boldness puts a dent in any progress that he made to getting these islands back to harmony and outsider-free. Any more interference, and it'll be like Hoyt all over again.

"I am going to kill every mother _fucker_ ," he slices through vines, "that thinks they can come to my island like the imperialistic _fucks_ they are."

His blood is boiling; he just wants to sate his bloodlust and get high but he knows until this is taken care of, he'll have to do with taking his anger out on foliage.

He hears footsteps and halts.

"Sit tight,"

He throws Dominique to the ground and blends in with the darkness. The footsteps belong to the Nurse, bloodied and wielding a machete.

"Dominique? Carmen? Anika? Are you here?" he calls out.

Dominique tries to call out to him, but Vaas muffles her.

"One word and you die." He hisses in her ear.

"Dom? You there? You…oh, shit!"

Arrows come out and with some stroke of luck, it only grazes him. He hisses and runs off into the forest.

"I'll come back for you guys. Just sit tight!" Mike hollers out.

"Fucking idiot. Always someone trying to play hero. He'll be the first one to die."

Dominique sobs through his hand.

"Shut the fuck up. I have no use for tears."

He slings her over his shoulder and he continues his trek.

* * *

"Where the fuck is Vaas? I wanted to make a formal meeting with the king of these godforsaken islands." A bizarre accent breaks out through the walkie-talkie. They managed to plow through the privateers (Well, _he_ managed to plow through the privateers. Dominique was too chicken-shit to even _attack_ someone.) and find a walkie-talkie on one of his victims.

"Shit, that's the man that gave me the pouch. I did his hair." Dominique whispers.

"He gave you a name?"

"No."

"You're fucking useless." He presses his ear to the walkie-talkie.

"Vaas…I know you're out there. I'll find you even if I have to burn this island to the ground. I even found some of your friends."

Screams erupt from the walkie-talkie.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are…"

"I'm right here, motherfucker. You think you know my islands? Huh? You think your lily white ass can stroll through my island and disrespect me? Do you know how fucking rude that was, bombing my fucking forests and villages? Don't you white boys have any manners?" Vaas replies. The talkie crackles with laughter.

"Well, if it ain't the man of the hour? Just the man I've wanted to see!"

"You know, hermano, if you wanted to see me so bad, you could've came here yourself. Or are you too much of a pussy to do it without back-up?"

"I'm a lot of things, but stupid ain't one of them. I know how you and your kind are."

" _My kind?_ Oh, hermano, you _really_ got me fucked up. Bad mistake. You don't know me, hermano. You don't even know what my favorite color is. Tell me, when do you want to die?"

"I should be asking you that same question. Hoyt was a good friend of mine, you know? Gave me the best connections from here to Colombia, got me on to the money with human trafficking and drug manufacturing. Broke my heart when I heard he was gone and you're putting a dent in his legacy."

"As much as I want to take credit, I'm not the one that did him in. It was a fucking white boy, just like you. A SoCal college boy who wanted to play white savior and Rakyat warrior." Vaas chuckles, "if anything, you should be paying _him_ a visit."

"Tried. Snow White is often talked about among my men, but we never could find him once he left the island. The one that actually tried to snuff him out never came back."

"So I'm the next best thing, yeah? You white boys, man. Never know when to leave well enough alone. Now you want to play Conquistador and come on my island to cheapen our culture and way of life. I can't allow that, hermano. You won't be the first, but I'll make sure you'll be the last."

"Silly island savage. You think your arrows and spears are going to save you from our guns and technology?"

"It worked before, hermano. Believe me when I say that these natives aren't going to bend over and let you fuck them. They're going to fight. They're going to kill. And they're going to stomp a mud-hole in that lily white ass and send you home to your mama in a body bag."

"You talk big for someone who doesn't show their face."

"You're on my island. Remember that."

Static.

Vaas sets down the walkie-talkie and picks up a gun.

"Wh-what's going on? What happened to my friends?" Dominique asks. Vaas slams her against the wall, barrel of the gun jammed into her jaw.

"I'm going to count to three, and when I count to three, I'm going to pull this fucking trigger and drive a bullet through your skull. Because, right now, you're dead weight and I got a colonist fuck I need to kill. One."

He cocks the gun.

"No, no, no, no, no…"

"Two…"

"I can still be of use!"

"How?"

"Your wounds. I can dress them. Anika taught me how to fix broken bones, disinfect wounds, and dress bandages. I…I can be…a spy."

"A spy?" he barks, "You think this is a game? This is fucking war. We don't have time to have you fuck around playing dress-up!"

"No! I can get information. I can get information for you and you can use it as leverage to drive that man out. I'm unnoticeable; I can blend in, get his secrets, and he won't know a thing. He'll never see me coming!"

"You're a fucking slave on my island. What makes you think he'll trust you so easily?"

"You trusted me. You told me all of your secrets. _All of them_. Within a span of three days. That should tell you something."

"That gives me all the reason to kill you…"

"But I never told a soul. I told you before about my hairstylist and client policy. I protect those secrets to the grave, but for this occasion, I'm willing to break that rule. On one condition; my friends get to go home."

Vaas cackles.

"You got some balls bargaining with me, especially now!"

"Look, I'm the one who deserves whatever punishment you dish out. I may not be a doctor, a nurse, or a cook, but I don't think you want a doctor that hates you and knows the human body enough to shut it down at any time, a nurse who has more than enough reason to dope you to death, or a cook that can give you a medley of toxins that stop your heart in a matter of seconds.

"I'm an asset; I'm loyal, I keep secrets, and I know basic first aid and medicine. _They_ were not the ones you shared a bed with. _I_ was. _I'm_ the one that broke your trust, so _I'm_ the one that deserves the punishment. If I bring you to glory, I'll happily be your prisoner and you can kill me any way you choose. Just…just let them go home."

"You're sacrificing your freedom and life again for your friends. Why?"

"Because they're my friends. And I'm willing to die for the ones I love."

Vaas scratches his chin and assesses his prisoner. Her head is bowed down and her arms outstretched in surrender. Her spirit is broken; she has this one plea and it's over.

He'll humor her; her friends may be dead anyway, but he can kill two birds with one stone: dead Jefe, dead pain in his ass. Win-win.

"It's fucking beautiful you're willing to die for the ones you love."

He takes her hand and gives it a curt shake.

"You got yourself a deal."


	11. Chapter 11: Appearances are Everything

Chapter 11: Appearance is Everything

Dominique should've never opened her big mouth.

Her mother always told her her big mouth would land her in hot water; she was right, but Dominique talked her way _out_ of hot water and instead have landed herself in a much bigger pot.

She doesn't know a thing about espionage; she doesn't have high tech equipment, intricate disguises, and a captivating personality that attracts the masses. She's no James Bond; she's a regular 23-year-old woman who is a _hairstylist_. The cards are not stacked in her favor in this department.

She remembers her skills: She's a listener, observant, and a team player. God, it's like filling out a job application…

She has to think of how to go about this; Vaas does have a point about her identity on this island, despite Dominique's annoyance. This is her last shot at getting her friends off this island and saving herself; even though she makes good on her promises, if there's a chance she can make it off this island unscathed, she'll take it, scouts' honor be damned.

She holds up her barber's razor, rust starting to form on the corner of it. This razor won't do anymore; she needs a fresh blade and she doubts Vaas has any shaving equipment, let alone personal hygiene products lying around. She doesn't want to ask; his mood swings are making her antsy. Ever since that chat with the Southern Belle, Vaas has been more irritable than normal, and it didn't help that she's shackled to him after the ambush. The tribe is scattered, many of the warriors did the best they could but they were no match for RPG's, assault rifles, and bombs. The once peaceful island is riddled with blood, gore, and singed pieces of earth where trees and nature should've flourished. The things she seen are reminiscent of the warzones in Iraq and Afghanistan that she'd seen on television…devastation and violence, children crying for mercy and for their dead relatives to come back home…

Her heart is heavy.

* * *

She whittles her stick, her mind focused on making her weapon sharp and ready for battle.

"Do you even know how to use that thing, Shaka?" Vaas deadpans, hands laced behind his head. They're on the northern part of the island, in an abandoned village that somehow has a run-down diner that's still standing. Vaas' expression looks amused at Dominique's activity.

"I do." Dominique fires back.

"Do you? I want to see how you wielding a stick is going to bring me Jefe's head. His men have weapons that will turn your stick into firewood. What the fuck can you do?"

Dominique throws her knife down in a huff.

"Still waiting, Princess."

"I don't know how to use it. I expected to get lucky or turn into some warrior goddess at the last minute."

He snorts.

"You watch too many movies."

Silence.

As much as Dominique hates admitting it, she misses Vaas' talkative nature. A quiet and moody Vaas is a far more dangerous one than a wisecracking and cocky one.

She looks at herself through the dingy mirror; she looks terrible. Skin dirty and dry from lack of proper skin care regimen, hair wild and tangled from sleeping without a scarf and hair care products, her once pristine clothes filthy, torn, and are starting to look baggy on her; at least she can say she's losing weight. Her eyes have bags underneath them from nights of unrest and her lips, in a form of irony, are nice and soft.

She looks terrible; no one in their right mind would even look, let alone talk to, someone who looks like a mental patient or a vagabond.

She needs a makeover.

For espionage, she reasons.

"Vaas, I think I know how to go about the mission."

* * *

Ever since she was a teenager, Dominique understood that appearances are everything; it dictates who your friends will be, what jobs you'll get, and especially how you'll be treated. If she walks into a bar, dressed to the nines and her attitude is at a 10, best believe she'll turn everyone's head and be the center of attention.

As she runs the brush through her freshly detangled hair, she feels like her old self again. She looks in the mirror and back at the pitiful arsenal of makeup Vaas scavenged, wishing there was a strong disinfectant to put her at ease at the origins of said makeup. She picks up a tube of plum lipstick, slices off the edges and top of it to cease infection, swipes it on her wrist to see if it compliments her skin tone, and applies it. Her eyes are done with a kohl stick and smudged for a smoky effect, her hair brushed into a high ponytail that's secured by a rag, and her lips perfectly purple and enticing, she can say her face is done to the best of her ability.

The clothes, however, are a tricky spot.

Because of her size, it's scarce pickings for clothing that fits her. Everyone seems too small for her; her size 16 won't fare well with the size 6's, 7's, 10's, and sometimes 11's. Even the tourists are small-sized; the biggest size they can find are on the men's but their tacky prints and oversized shirts compliment her none. She's going to have to improvise.

She settles on a man's long-sleeved dress shirt that's somewhat clean and is in an olive green color.

She'll make it work.

* * *

She gives herself another look in the mirror, surprised at how well it turned out; the tutorials of using a man's shirt have worked in her favor. Yes, it makes her chest look saggier than normal, but accessories can take the eye off any worst asset. She grabs the bracelets and try (in vain) to fit her hand through them, but she knows her hands and wrists are too big. She tries on the necklaces, and feels embarrassment when the perfect one won't fit her neck. She settles on the pair of clip-on earrings; they're the only ones that seemed to fit her, it seems. She puts them on, the color and the way they dangle compliments her round face and wide shoulders. She's ready.

She comes out of the dressing room to an expectant Vaas and notices his eyes widen and his grip on a joint tighten.

"What do you think? Is this a good disguise?"

"This is a disguise?" he circles around her, "You're supposed to spy on him, not seduce him."

"A woman who looks good looks more trustworthy than an ugly one."

They lock eyes; Dominique's eyes settle on the green jewelry hanging from Vaas' neck.

"Your necklace. It goes with my outfit. It would make this outfit perfect."

Her freshly polished nails grace the necklace.

"Don't." he grabs her hand.

"Please? It looks so pretty, Vaas. It'll make it look perfect. It even matches my earrings, see?" her hands hold up the dangling green earring. She bats her eyes at him, her lips in a pout.

"Fuck," he breathes out. He steps back, bows his head, takes off his necklace, and places it on Dominique. The green gem seems to find a home in her cleavage; she notices Vaas bite his lip, his eyes locked on her chest.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it?" she says softly in his ear, her finger stroking his jawline. Pride wells up in her gut when she hears him take a sharp intake of breath.

She pulls away and looks at him. His eyes look clouded and his hands are curled around the gem that's nestled between her breasts.

"You think I'm ready for espionage now?"

"...you're good." Vaas cracks a smirk.

"I learn from experience."

She turns and walks away to the diner, her hips switching extra hard.

This is going to be a cakewalk when it's time to meet Jefe.


	12. Chapter 12: Bar T(r)ap

Bar T(r)ap

Dominique thumbs the material of the piece of jewelry around her neck, surprised at how smooth and sharp it is. She can't believe she finessed Vaas out if his necklace; she felt he'd probably been through the seductions of women in all his years as a pirate; he'd probably already had his share of women…

She scoffs.

She could care less about his sex life or lack thereof.

She fingers the gem, admiring the contrast of green against chestnut skin. She needs to plan out her strategy. She has the look, now she needs to find the man and…

"Pardon me, Miss, but is this seat taken?"

Just her luck.

She turns around in her seat and finds Southern Belle leaning against the barstool, his specs gleaming under the cheap lighting.

"No, have a seat." She says softly, her fingers stroking the upholstery of the seating. He sits down next to her.

"Pardon my manners, but you look prettier than a can of peaches. Like a little island princess. All you need is a flower right," his hand tucks a strand of her curls right behind her ear, "there." He grins.

"Thank you." She replies with a smile. Act interested, Dominique. Act interested.

"What drink would you like, beautiful? Anything you want, just name it and I'll buy it. "

"A glass of," she looks at the pitiful assortment of alcohol, "Coke and rum. On the rocks."

"Classic." He nods his head. "I like that."

"I like you. On this island of brutes, it feels good to have a gentleman in your presence." She raises her glass, "I appreciate the drink."

"Anything for the Island Flower." He squints his eyes at her.

"My, oh my, if it ain't the hairstylist. Gotta say, girlie. You clean up nicely. Could barely recognize you through all that beauty. I like it, though. Makes me curious." He leans in close.

"Why you deciding to look this good? Were you waiting on me?"

"Maybe. Maybe you're the guy I'm looking for. I like being swept off my feet by a southern man. That accent is an aphrodisiac for me."

"Laying it on thick, sweetheart. You California girls ain't subtle when it comes to courtship. That's okay, though. Been dying to get a taste of some California peach, if you know what I mean." His hand slides up her thigh. Her hand grips his.

"We may lack subtlety but we _will_ make you work for it. This peach isn't an easy one to taste."

He chuckles.

"Classic _and_ classy. I like you. I have a party of sorts coming on tonight. It'd be beautiful to have a little arm candy to bring. I insist, my dear." His lips touch her hand, "you won't be disappointed. It'll be a night you won't forget." He grins.

"I'll think about it. Where can I find you?"

"West of the Southern Islands. It's where a convoy is at. Heavily armed militia men will guard the place. all you gotta do is say you're the Island Flower and they'll let you in. I'll be waiting. Matter of fact, how about you come with me right now? I'd love to show you my collection of guns and weapons I've collected around the world."

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid not at this moment. I have a few clients lined up. But if you want, I can give you a line-up." Her finger strokes his jawline.

"The five o'clock shadow doesn't go with your long hair. Or, would you like me to trim the hair into a nice crew cut…?"

"Surprise me. I want to get to know you more. Know what…" his hand strokes her knee, "makes you tick. I'm curious, now."

Dominique gently grabs his hand and lifts it off his knee.

"Trust me, sir. Touching a lady without permission isn't going to get you far in getting to know her. Definitely not in the ways you _want_ to get to know her."

"My apologies. Where are my manners this lovely day?"

Something chirps in his pocket.

"Oh, fuck. This had better be good."

He digs into his pocket and pulls out a phone.

"Hello? What do you _mean_ you got ambushed—a _woman_ did this? Did you kill her—slow down, slow down—how much of the product was destroyed— _15 million dollars worth_? Are you fucking kidding me—no, fuck that, I'm in a bad fucking mood and when I get there I'm putting a bullet in _ALL_ of your fucking heads—what do you _mean_ she took the ship? You let a _bitch_ pillage _my_ turf, destroy _my_ shit and leave with _my fucking property_ —I don't give a _fuck_ about your family! You work for me—I'm coming right now and you better get the _fuck_ out of my sight."

He slams the phone shut. He looks to Dominique.

"My apologies, sweetheart. Trouble in paradise. It appears my men can't handle one singular bitch, so they call Daddy to clean up their mess, pardon my French. It appears the festivities are cancelled until further notice, but I'll see you around, yeah?"

She raises her glass to him with a smile. Before the man leaves, she grabs his hand.

"What do you want me to call you?" she asks softly, her thumb stroking his skin.

"Call me Kingston. Big Daddy if you nasty." He winks at her and walks away. Swallowing her disgust, she waves him off and downs her coke and rum with a grimace.

There's no way in hell he has a chance of getting in her panties; his touches make her skin crawl, the creep. She can't _stand_ the smell of chewing tobacco and cheap cologne. She reassesses the conversation: she's got a name and location. And a possible ally in taking this man down. A woman at that; talk about girl power!

She just needs to locate Vaas and relay the intel.


	13. Chapter 13: Pretty Girls Make Graves

Pretty Girls Make Graves

Vaas watches Dominique disappear into the diner, his arousal trying to swallow him whole. The way she touches him, her lips puckered up and shining like a berry he's been dying to taste, how her sweet voice sends jolts to his crotch, and the way she switches her hips so hard that large ass jiggles just the way he likes is enough to shut off the logic in his brain. It's been a while since he'd been seduced like that; he hasn't really had any action outside of the regular village whore and…his incestuous past with Citra that he narrowly escaped with his life. He doesn't want to think about it much longer; he doesn't want her haunting him from the grave. He won't give her the satisfaction.

His philosophical detour with Freud vanished when an expensive looking Jeep rolls onto the sand and parks outside the diner. It doesn't take a genius to know it's none other than Jefe; brown hair, specs, and he's pale as a ghost matches the description. He's going into the diner, where Dominique is…

He hopes this all goes according to plan; her plan is working a little too perfectly for it to be true. What coincidence, what luck, could allow their target to fall into their laps like this…?

He hides inside the foliage, debating on whether to eavesdrop or hope that Dominique doesn't fuck it up and leave them to their own devices. Fuck that; after all the headaches she's given him, he has no reason to trust her. He crouches down and makes his way to the back of the diner; he'll be in the backroom and listen in…

A force slams him against the sand, a sharp object jammed against his throat.

"Don't. Fucking. Move. A. Muscle."

The familiar smell of blood and gunpowder fills Vaas' nose.

"Trust me, motherfucker. I'm the wrong one to fuck with. Let me go and maybe I'll let you die quick and easy."

"Where's Dominique?"

That did the trick.

He slams himself against the mass and flips it over his shoulder by his arms. The mass is revealed to be a bloodied, disheveled, crazed-looking dark skinned woman with loosely-curled hair and vibrant hazel eyes. It's the Cook.

"Just the woman I've been dying to see. You're not too upset about me putting a gun to your head—"

She charges at him, swiping at him with a knife, barely missing his cheek.

"I'll kill you, for all the hell you put us through. You…you…bastard!" tears are streaming down her cheeks.

"Do you know what I did, how many people I _killed_ , because you couldn't let us get off this goddamn island?"

"Oh, you want my pity for you killing? You fucking Americans with your hypocrisy, man. Always quick to play white savior and play victim when you're caught with blood on your hands. I'm in the middle of something, hermana, and I'd appreciate it if you'd fuck off until then. We can settle this after Dominique does her thing."

"She…she's alive?"

"No fucking shit. She wants to play martyr and sacrifice her life for you fuckers. She's working for me and after that, you guys leave the island and she'll be stuck with me as my slave. You hurt one hair off my head and the deal's off."

"She sacrificed herself for us? Why?"

"Because she had no other fucking choice. Now unless you want to dance and lose your chance at freedom, I'm gonna ask you to fuck off. Disappear." He lets out a whistle.

"This isn't over, Vaas. You're coming with me even if I have to drag you."

Vaas snorts.

"Looks like your balls dropped, Princess. You used to be a crying little bitch not too long ago, now you killed a few people and you want to act tough? I can break you, destroy every piece of who you are and make you beg for death and I won't even break a sweat. Tell me this, you think you can measure up to a _real_ Rakyat warrior? You think you can square up with _me_ , you little bitch?" he looks at her weapon of choice.

"With a fucking knife? That's the best weapon you can come up with?"

"No, but this is." She pulls out an assault rifle.

"You know how to use that thing?"

"I killed eight men with this thing in a span of 30 seconds. Want to test your luck?"

"I killed _eight_ men in _eight_ seconds. You bluffing me?"

"Yeah. But I'm sure _they're_ not."

Before he could react, he feels the blow to the back of his head and he succumbed to darkness.

* * *

He comes to, head throbbing from the blow, and finds himself bound at his hands and feet to the ceiling, heat and darkness swallowing him whole. Okay, this is new but familiar; he hadn't been captured and at the mercy of assailants since he was…sixteen? Seventeen? He can't remember.

Muffled voices are speaking through the thin slit of what appears to be the doorway; he strains his ears for a better listen.

" _You sure it's him? It was almost too easy to subdue him."_

" _He knows where Dominique is. He has the tatau. It's definitely him."_

" _How do you know he's going to help us? He's our enemy?"_

" _He might also be an enemy of that fucker Kingston. An enemy of my enemy is a friend of mine."_

" _I hope he's still asleep. This man is dangerous when he's awake. I know from experience."_

The door opens. Vaas is blinded by light; shadows block the light and with proper focus he notices they're all women. Women who have tatau, piercings, warrior hairstyles, and armed to the teeth. They have blood, battle-wounds, and tattered clothing; they've been fighting.

"He's awake. Alert the Healer and Kali."

"Hello, ladies. Fancy meeting you here. Have the Gods answered my prayers for an orgy of women?" he grins at them, chuckling at their barely masked looks of disgust.

"Count your stars you used to be one of us, traitor. Because believe me, I'd love nothing more than your head on a silver platter for turning your back on your people! Your treachery has brought these…savages on our land! You…you killed my family for those pale-faced monsters!" a spear is pointed at his throat. He gulps.

"You and every other bitch in town. Take a number and get in line for the fuckers who have a bone to pick with me." He fires back.

"Shasta! Stand down, we need him alive. His fate will be determined after his…redemption."

"Redemption?" he scoffs. "I got too much blood on my hands. You must be fucking stupid if you think a group of bitches are going to scare me into turning the other cheek."

"Not that kind of redemption, Vaas."

Vaas is greeted to the Doctor and the Cook, whose gun is pointed at him.

"Hello, again. Vaas. I think you and I both know that we have something the other wants."

* * *

"So, you mean to tell me you want Jefe dead as well?"

"The man may have saved us from a premature execution, but he has captured Mike and forced us to watch him slaughter an entire village so we know not to fuck with him. We escaped with our lives, banded with the female Rakyat, and have been attacking his weak spots. I have to rescue my friend, you want him dead, we both can come to an arrangement."

"You want to bargain? Dominique already got you covered."

"No. I want to join forces. We both have a common enemy. We can work together…"

"I work for no one after Hoyt. You're my prisoners."

"We're not anything after Kingston weakened your military, destroyed your base, and desecrated your hiding spot. Half of these islands are destroyed and turned into drug fields. He has killed nearly all of your men and the ones that survived scattered to join him. You may not like it, but we're the only ones you got now. We're the only ones in your corner.

"You are a strong, irrational, skilled warrior from what I heard, but I also know you're a pragmatist. You understand that you, a lone human being, going against a man with resources, connections, and a militia of men that will gun you down in seconds is a stupid decision. You're also badly injured; when's the last time you gotten fresh bandages for the flesh that needs to heal?" The Doctor's fingers trace the filthy bandages on Vaas' chest. He glares.

"You need us. We work with you and take down Kingston together, and we go our separate ways. I'll take my friends and we get the hell off this island. Carmen even took one of Kingston's boats for a clean escape. We can do this, but we need your help. You're a warrior who knows these islands like the back of your hand. We can use that to take him down. We need you, Vaas."

"Dominique and I were already doing that. She's a fucking spy, like in those James Bond movies. She was supposed to get info and we use that to take him down."

"Dominique's alive?" The Doctor's eyes widen.

"No fucking shit."

"Oh, God. She…she made it…"

"Now isn't the time. Now we have to work with this…this… _monster,_ and take out the threat so we can rescue Mike." Carmen claps a hand on her shoulder.

"You need us. You have an army of women who will be at your command. Mothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, grandmothers. These women have nothing to lose and will die for the cause."

"You're telling me I can command them? Hmm? Anything I want?"

"You're training them for battle. You give out orders for the army. You're the general. Whip them into shape. Dominique gathers intel, Carmen becomes the muscle and I strategize our next plan of attack. We can make this work, Vaas."

"Did I ever tell you what the definition of insanity is?"

"No. But I know Albert Einstein did. And trust me, after this, it _will_ be different. This war, this violence, this… _insanity_ is going to end. We just have to work together."

"If I don't?"

"You have to fight through an army of women who are twice as strong and twice as brutal as your men. They've done some shit that will make your atrocities look like child's play. We throw you to the women, and they will tear you apart for all the shit you've done to your people. Trust me, an angry group of women is something you don't want to fuck with. Do we have a deal: work with us or die?"

Vaas chuckles.

"I don't have much of a fucking choice, do I? I just want that colonial fuck _dead_."

"So do I, Vaas. So. Do. I."

As they stare into each other's eyes, it was all the agreement they need.

They're a team now, whether they like it or not.


	14. Chapter 14: Training Bra

Training Bra

"You call that a fucking shot? Drop and give me 40. I'm going to have you do this one more fucking time, and you better do it right!"

"Bitch, does this look like Oprah to you? You think I care that you're crying? Run 10 laps. I better see that lard ass _move_!"

"For the last time, you fucking bitch. Dodge, dodge, fucking block, _takedown!_ Are you fucking deaf and stupid?"

The women Rakyat groan in discontent as their sergeant barks orders and puts them through hell under the unforgiving sun. Vaas has taken his title as sergeant and commander a little too seriously; he's turned into a caricature of an American drill sergeant and it's grating on the soldiers' nerves, but they were smart enough to not say anything. Dominique looks onward from the window of the hut, feeling a sense of guilt and pity that she's not out there suffering, but instead preparing the food for the exhausted soldiers to eat.

This has been the new normal for the past two days: Dominique collects intel, Vaas trains the ladies, Anika maps out locations and weak spots, and Carmen executes the tortures and killings of the enemy's men. Dominique silently believes Carmen enjoys killing, perhaps a little too much, but can't say anything because shit needs to get done and they're running out of time to possibly save Mike.

They're aware his medical knowledge is what's keeping him alive, but God only knows what hell they're putting him through or the magnitude of danger he's in. His too cool for school demeanor could only get him so far…

"Dominique! The girls are coming in and they need their food stat!"

Dominique makes quick work of filling the bowls and setting them out for the girls to take. She sees them limp, some of them even crawl, inside the hut, groaning and cursing their commander.

"You did good work, girls." She smiles thinly at them. The cold glares and silent judgment is enough to make her swallow her words and serve the food. Vaas strolls right in, sweaty and shirtless from his makeshift training. He grabs his bowl without a word and downs the contents in a matter of seconds.

"Military slop. Haven't had this in years." He muses. Dominique wanted to correct him and tell him it's mango and boar stew, but she hasn't the energy to pick fights with him. They're both tired; Dominique from sneaking around all hours of the night with a double life and Vaas commanding the girls and strategizing with Anika. Their energy somehow winds up in their shared pallet together, where they mumble plans for the next day to each other in lieu of "goodnight" and they doze off.

Today was no different; this time they have destroyed another Amanaki mushroom processing plant and have destroyed the connections to other drug cartels via shot radio towers. For now, Kingston's cash flow is slowly crippling, the last lifeline being the human trafficking trade. If they're lucky, they free the slaves, sever all ties to the big names in human trafficking, and take out Kingston for once and for all. The aftermath, however, is up for determination.

It sounds good on paper, but Vaas' forewarning of there being far worse entities taking Kingston's place of trying to take over the islands makes the optimistic plot of peace seem like nothing more than a dream.

Dominique stirs her pot, her brows furrowed, thinking about Vaas and Jason's words. They're going to be doing the exact, same fucking thing, over and over and over again, expecting shit to change. This island will repeat itself, regardless of how many bodies had to drop to change the hands of fate.

Vaas has a point after all.

 _This time will be different. Trust me, we can change this. We can make this happen,_ Anika's optimistic voice echoes in her ear. She wants to believe her, but the question of _how_ is deep within her mind. How; there will always be people like Kingston, there will always be people like Vaas, broken people who terrorize and destroy everything they touch because they can never understand love and kindness. So what if they win; they win with blood on their hands. If they lose, Kingston will take over the island, kill them all and run the islands with an iron fist until someone brave enough decides to put an end to this.

She wishes these islands never existed, she wishes she never even set foot on this cursed island, she wishes this is all a dream she'll wake out of at any second. But, she knows no matter how much she wishes upon a star, no matter how many times she shuts her eyes real tight, her reality is staring back at her.

She will never escape this hellhole.

She'll die here.

"Hey, space cadet. Come back to me for a second."

It's Vaas, cramming his bowl against her breast.

"Would this all be for nothing?"

"Huh?"

"If we kill Kingston, would it have been for nothing? There will be more people like him coming here, some even looking for revenge over their lost finances. We'll just keep fighting and fighting until we become too old to fight. We'll just keep this cycle going…"

"Hey, shh, don't think about it, yeah? I don't want you getting all doom and gloom when we're trying to win. Yes, there will be more people like Kingston. There will be more colonial fucks that want to take over my islands. And they will die, one by fucking one. But, hermana, there's…hope. I can feel it; this time, it _will_ be different. It fucking will."

"I never took you for…optimistic."

"Because…I'm training the women and let me tell you, those bitches are tough. Make my men look like pussies. I'm actually proud."

"That's the…nicest thing you've said so far…to anyone."

"Don't get used to it. After we get rid of that colonial fuck I still want my end of the deal."

"You want me that bad?"

"No, I fucking like deals being honored. You Americans always go back on your word."

"You held us against our will…"

"Water under the bridge, hermana. Water under the bridge." He grabs her ladle and pours himself some stew.

* * *

"I want you to teach me how to fight."

"What?"

Carmen eyes her warily in the darkness, gun slung over her shoulder and a knife in her hand. She'd killed a boar to prepare for tonight's feast and had invited Dominique along for the ride.

"Dom, you already know how to fight. You used to fight those bitches down in…"

"Not that kind of fighting. Fists won't do in a fight with knives and guns. I need to learn how to shoot, how to avoid getting shot, and how to…kill."

Carmen's hand grips the knife tighter.

"Dom, I'm going to warn you right now. Killing someone, taking a life, it's not easy as you think. Once you kill, you can't go back. You lose a piece of your humanity until you become a shell of who you used to be."

"How many?"

"What?"

"How many people did you kill?"

"…38."

Dominique swallows deeply. Her friend, her caring, peace-loving, cries when she sees a dying animal on television friend, has claimed 38 lives in less than a week. It unnerves her.

"I'm not proud of it," Carmen adds, "but it was something that needed to be done. It was either kill or be killed, and I wasn't going down without taking someone with me."

She looks to her friend, her hazel eyes glowing from the fire.

"I can teach you, but only if you promise me that you won't back out when you take your first life. And you must always hold on to your humanity with each person you kill. This is war, Dominique. I need to make sure you're ready, and I won't train someone who isn't up for the challenge."

Dominique swallows deeply. Is she truly ready for actually killing someone? Can she truly live with herself knowing that someone died because of her?

It's war, she tells herself, it's war and just about everyone outside of her circle is an enemy that has no problem killing. She will only kill in self-defense. It's not like she's doing it for fun…

"Are you serious about learning combat and dealing with the consequences of killing someone?"

Dominique swallows again.

She nods.

Damn humanity; she just wants to survive.


	15. Chapter 15: The Lamb and Wolf's Tango

The Lamb and the Wolf's Tango

Vaas lies in his cot, exhaling the fresh joint he rolled up. His girls are ready; starting tomorrow, they should be able to storm the front and put an end to Kingston; Dominique's schematics really came in handy…

He inhales.

Dominique should be rolling in to their room at any moment now, smelling of perfume and her makeup unscathed. She'd hop in their cot, wipe off her makeup on a rag, tie up her hair, and lie down under the thin blanket. She'd mumble information for Vaas to store in his memories, and she'd doze off. He'd stay up all night, smoking and planning out the next step in operation Colonial Fuck until the sun rises and he gets the girls ready. He turns on his side, waiting for his back to be warmed with her body heat and to smell her scent.

Like clockwork, a body plops down beside him, the body heat warming his spine. He expects to smell coconuts and jasmine, but instead he smells gunpowder and blood. He jumps from his position and notices Dominique lying face-down on the cot, her hair fanning out over the makeshift pillow like a black cloud.

"What the fuck happened to you?" he asks.

"Mrrmng."

"What?"

She flips over.

"Training." She croaks out. Vaas assesses the damage. She's bandaged on her leg, her clothes torn and damaged with dirt and bloodstains, her lip carries a gash and the left side of her cheek is starting to swell.

"What kind of training?"

"Learning how to fight, shoot, kill, with Carmen. She worked me."

Vaas snorts.

"So the princess decides to learn how to fight? Got tired of sitting on your throne?"

"No, Vaas. I just wanted to know how to defend myself next time I meet Kingston. I think it won't be long before he learns whose side I'm on and try to do me in. And it helps if I'm stuck with you again that I pull my weight."

"How considerate. Maybe I won't have to croak you after all." He flops down on the mat, hands laced behind his head. She groans in response.

"Everything fucking hurts. I can't even move."

"Good. That means she didn't go easy on you. And that also means I can sleep knowing you won't try to kill me in my sleep."

Silence.

"What's the plan for tomorrow?"

"You seduce him again. Get him alone and keep him busy. And we'll take care of the rest."

"I don't think it's going to go as planned…"

"Why would you say that? Don't tell me you fucked it up. Fuck, it's the easiest task and you can't even do that right…"

"No. It's just…it doesn't feel natural."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"If it doesn't feel natural, it's not believable. I'm uncomfortable around him, stiff. I'm not believing the lie and it won't be long before he catches on. I need help."

"Pretend it's me."

"That's going to make it worse."

"No, hermana. You're comfortable around me, yeah?"

"I have no other option…"

"You seduced me for my necklace. You believed in your lie then. You knew how to work me. Pretend he's me. It's not hard."

"It's different…"

"No it's not. Seduction is easy, hermana. You just need to apply yourself." He stands up and grabs her hand. Muttering in Spanish, he swallows his irritation when his bedmate grumbles and slowly rises. She loses her footing and collapses on him, her head pressed into his chest. He wants to push her off him, but her body heat and her softness stops him.

"Look at me."

"I can't even fucking see. It's dark as hell."

"You're not that far from my head, shorty. Look up."

She does. Even in the darkness, Vaas could see those brown eyes lock on to him; he feels a foreign feeling well up in his gut and he swallows it down.

"You know you're fucking beautiful, right?"

"What?"

"You heard what I said. I'm not going to repeat myself."

He notices her avert her eyes.

"Look me in the fucking eye,"

She does. This moment, this exact, fucking moment, is the most bizarre moment he's experienced. It's been years since he had a woman this close, this intimately. It's been years since something like this felt so right, so natural.

What the fuck is he thinking?

Wincing, she sits up, looking down at him. His hands slide from her shoulder blades to her hips, swallowing the rapid heartbeats in his chest when her legs straddle him for better footing. The moonlight peeks through the window, bathing Dominique in a milky blue light.

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why am I beautiful?"

"Because," his breath catches in his throat when Dominique leans over, her nose inches from his. Time seems to slow down, the only noises are their breaths, the cicadas, the soft breeze of trees swaying, and the soft rumble of tigers as they lurk.

This is all happening too fast; he feels her shudder in a breath, her shaky breath ghosting over his lips. He feels dizzy; he doesn't know if it's the high, the alcohol, or her. He feels something tickle his chest and sees the glint of his necklace still wrapped around her neck. She still wore it…

"Because," he licks his lips. His hands wrap around his neck, fingers dipping into the string of the necklace. He grabs it, looks her in the eye, and clashes his lips against hers.

He feels her moan into the kiss, hips grinding into him. She kisses back, fingers raking over his neck, the back of his head. When her tongue slips into his mouth is when he slides the necklace off her.

He pushes her away from him, both are panting. Even in the darkness, the trademark symptoms of arousal are prominent on Dominique's frame; her eyes are lidded, her lips pouted, her tits hardened through the thin fabric of her dress.

"Because," he grunts out, "it's the easiest way to get you hot and stupid."

The look of shock and betrayal flashes across her face. Without thinking, she slaps him.

He laughs.

"That's how you seduce someone, hermana. You fell for it…hook, line, and sinker." He dangles the necklace in front of her.

"You make me sick." She hisses in the darkness. She slides off him and inches away from him. He lets her, lying back on the cold ground, staring at the stars and trying to replay everything that took place.

It wasn't planned; he…he didn't know what he was going to do when she fell on him. Everything was happening too fast, too quickly…he needed to save face. He looks over at her and finds her back facing him. When he notices she's crying, he turns on his side away from her, pushing everything down to the back of his mind. She'll get over it, she knows that this is war and it's for her own good.

They don't talk for three days.


	16. Chapter 16: Hell Hath No Fury

Hell Hath No Fury (Like a Dominique Scorned)

"These fucking females, man, always a pain in the fucking ass, you know?" Vaas wipes the blood off on his pants. His victim's head lolls to the side, his mouth puffy and oozing blood. Vaas holds up the victim's tooth, squinting at the indication of bad oral hygiene.

"This is fucking embarrassing. You need to floss more." He says. Carmen stands at the door, arms crossed and gun perched under her arm. Her eyebrow raised, she watches her…companion…work his magic of interrogation methods.

"Please, please kill me. Just fucking kill me." The victim moans.

"But hermano," Vaas squats down to eye level, "we're having so much fun together." He grins and swats his cheek.

"Tell us what you know about your boss. When is his shipment coming in?" Carmen cuts in.

"I-I don't know anything…"

"…you know something, hermano. We heard you talking. You should never open your big mouth in the enemy's grounds." Vaas brandishes the knife.

"Answer the question and maybe we'll let you die quickly."

The knife sinks into his flesh, slowly peeling skin from muscle. His howls are music to Vaas' ears.

"Okay, okay! I'll tell you, just please stop!" tears are streaming down his face.

"Talk!" Carmen barks sharply.

"Kingston h-he's planning an ambush on Beras Town. The shipment is coming in tonight."

"Shit! He's got reinforcements?"

"Big guys with muscles, some of them…with weird tattoos."

"Names. Names, motherfucker."

"Monte, Gaston, and Foster. They're…they're…"

"…Involved in the human trafficking ring in Spain, France, and the US of fucking A." Vaas answers for him.

"Thank you for your time. But, no hard feelings." He shoots him point blank in the head. "You were a better snitch than you were ever a man."

"What the fuck did you do that for? We could've gotten more information…"

"I can fill in the blanks. These are the head honchos of the ring. Kingston is trying to bring in the big guns and wipe us out completely for his operation. The ambush on Beras Town is a starting point. It'll be WWIII if we don't do it quick and do it fast before any of those fuckers catch on. We need to get ready."

"What are we going to do?"

"Round up the girls. We're going to greet the fuckers in Beras Town. Kill his men, destroy his shipment, and take him down once and for all."

"Are they ready?"

"They better be. I trained them."

"Vaas?"

"What?"

"I'm not one to pry in people's affairs but…is something…going on…between you and Dominique?"

"What the _fuck_ gave you that idea?"

"Well, I noticed you're… _tense_ …more than usual. And, well, we can feel the tension between you two. You also refuse to communicate with each other. That's part of why our operation fell apart three days ago…?"

She has a point; Dominique's lack of communication made lack of relaying information to Vaas, which led them to scramble for a back-up plan that almost blew their cover. Now, Kingston can see they're coming, which isn't good.

"Nothing. _Fucking_. Happened."

"If you say so. But if it is, maybe…talk about it? It helps to lessen the tension. And maybe, help our group become more organized…"

"Shut the fuck up and move your ass. We need to get shit done and get it done now. But first," he looks down at the bound and bloodied body in disdain, "let's clean this fucking mess up."

* * *

"Listen up, bitches. Tonight's the night we take back what's ours. You ready?"

Cries of women break out into the night. Vaas stands at attention, admiring the bloodlust and devotion in his soldiers' eyes. He's trained them well.

"Alright, motherfuckers! Let's move!"

* * *

Vaas lurks in the shadows, eyes flitting back and forth at his surroundings. When he sees the boat come to the shore, he raises his hand for pause. People come out of the boat; Vaas recognizes Gaston, Monte, and Foster immediately. He sees Kingston and signals for them to get in position. They may not expect them to come, but he can expect some of the muscle to come lurking.

He sees the militiamen come out of the woodworks.

He's ready.

"Ah, Beras Town. I'm almost sad to get rid of all the townsfolk. But, they've been a colossal pain in the ass." Kingston says, guiding the men with him.

"Follow the muscle. Don't lose them and when you kill them, don't make a sound." Vaas hisses into the walkie-talkie.

"You got it, boss." Pandora answers. Vaas creeps back into the shadows, never taking his eyes off his prey. This could be over tonight; he just needs everything to go to plan…

Gunfire breaks out.

"Shit!" he hisses. Please, for the love of God, don't let the girls fuck up their mission…

"Boss! The natives are attacking! They're on to us!"

Shit-shit-shit-shit—

Kingston pulls out a gun and fires in the air; Gaston, Monte, and Foster scatter in the jungle. Fuck; who could've thought to fuck up the operation…?

Seeing he had no other option, Vaas follows after Kingston, weapons ready.

He'll settle the score once and for all.

If there's one thing Vaas is grateful for, is that he'd grown up in the jungle long enough to stalk prey undetected. In the midst of chaos and war, Kingston is none-the-wiser, stumbling through the jungle without proper back-up and correspondence. It was almost too easy.

Kingston doesn't have Hoyt's wisdom, or Buck's calculated demeanor, or even Citra's diplomacy. He was nothing more than an American fuck who wanted to play Conquistador and didn't even know the rules of the trade. It reminded him of the SoCal douchebag who gutted him and fled like a coward, only without the common sense.

He's astounded as to how he lived this long.

He's so close to him; it'd be child's play to put a bullet in his head and be done with it. He readies his gun, finger itching to pull the trigger. It's like breathing…one, two…

He fires.

Unfortunately, he missed; Kingston rolled out of the way and fled.

"Fuck!" he hissed.

"I know you out here, Vaas. Why don't you come out the woodworks and we can settle this like gentlemen? You gon' send some bitches to do your dirty work? I'm disappointed." Kingston calls out in the darkness. A low growl of a tiger warns them of the possibly worsening situation.

"That's because these bitches made your men look like pussies. They fucking slaughtered you without breaking a sweat."

"I'm impressed. Give a few jungle bunnies some guns and they think they run shit. Come on out. I want to see what the Big, Bad, Vaas Montenegro looks like. Your reputation is of legends. My men name their bitches after you."

"Oh, hermano, you're really digging a hole in your fucking grave. Come on out, if you man enough and we can end this."

"Ladies first."

"Never thought you'd ask." A female voice breaks out in the darkness.

That voice…

Women come out of the shadows, someone pointing their rifle in Kingston's back. He feels a barrel of a gun jam itself into his spine.

"One fucking move and you'll be paralyzed from the waist down." A voice hisses in his ear. The voice ignites a fire in his belly that's traveling to his groin.

It's Dominique.

He feels a burst of pain in the back of his head, then darkness.

* * *

He's starting to hate getting hit in the head this many times; he wonders if the blows to his head rattled away pieces of his insanity. Okay, Vaas. Slowly open your eyes, assess the damage—fuck, you're blindfolded. And let me guess, you're bound—oh, are captors so fucking predictable and cliché…

"Hello, Vaas. Kingston. Gentlemen. Sorry for the double-cross, but we need to edit some of our negotiations and settle a few differences. So, let's talk."


	17. Chapter 17: 21 Questions

21 Questions

Dominique prefers to consider herself a forgiving, rational, nonviolent person. She likes to take things and try to look at it from many different angles. Even when she came on the island, she always prided herself on thinking with a clear head and handling every decision with pragmatism; anything for survival she will do and she will do it with the utmost of courtesy.

Except, when Vaas kissed her.

It was a bizarre moment for Dominique; the way she was on top of him, the way his lips complimented hers, the way his stubble rubs against her neck…

She was aroused, she was attracted, and she was conflicted. For one, Vaas is the last person she ever wanted to be in this position with. He's violent, scary, and on more than one occasion threatened the safety of her and her friends' lives. Two, this isn't the time to be having any form of attraction; the main objective is survival. Getting off this island alive by any means necessary is an absolute must for Dominique. Three, these… _emotions_ …are unacceptable for Dominique. She can honestly say she hates this man's very existence; why would anyone want to fuck someone they can't stand?

It wasn't just the kiss that shook her up, it was what took place after; he played her like a fiddle and it made her feel stupid, cheap, like a hormonal teenager that thought with his dick than with his brain and gotten fucked over by the school cheerleader. _Hook, Line, and Sinker;_ that's not something you say to someone who is emotionally fragile and at a moment of weakness. Doesn't Vaas know anything; Hell Hath No Fury like a woman whose emotions have been manipulated; it's a death sentence waiting to happen and he might as well have signed the papers.

She's angry, as well she should; no one has a right to get one over on her while she's vulnerable. Vaas used her, for a fucking necklace; it's natural to feel vindicated. Vaas was insulting her intelligence, mocking her loneliness, waving her weaknesses in her face and spitting on it. _Silly girl. You should know better than to trust a crook,_ her father tuts in her ear, _you're smarter than that._ She felt embarrassed, cheated, and ashamed. She wants a little revenge.

For Dominique, a _little_ would be having two dangerous drug lords bound, blindfolded, and at her mercy while she wields a gun and an unpredictable temper.

As much as she hates to admit it, Dominique gets a kick out of being the one in control for once, giving her captor a taste of his own medicine. As for Kingston, it was a two-for-one deal, a means to an end. This wasn't supposed to be the plan.

The plan was to evacuate the residents of Beras Town and make connections with the arms dealer, not have gung-ho Carmen and Vaas commandeer the soldiers and try to save the day. Dominique and Anika scrambled to save their crumbling operation and, unfortunately, turn on themselves for the sake of saving face. Carmen is being detained and reprimanded for the lack of diplomacy; you never make rash decisions without consulting the group first; it's the antithesis of what makes a team a team.

Furthermore, the mission is to save Mike or find out about his whereabouts; dealing with Kingston and his men would be the next best thing after Mike is safely recovered.

Getting Kingston in her possession wasn't a total loss; sure, she blew her cover now, but at least he can give some info about the whereabouts of Mike. With any luck, Mike may still be alive and they can get to him before it's too late. Time is not on their side; they must work quickly.

"Hello, Kingston." She greets the sorry excuse for a man hanging from the ceiling by his arms. His curly locks plastered to his face, glasses askew to make room for the blindfold, and his once pristine face marred with gashes, dirt, and sweat. He wasn't an easy catch; he was more skilled with combat than she gave him credit for. If it wasn't for the girls ganging up on him, he would've gotten away.

"My little Island Flower. Somehow, I should've seen this coming. Should've listened to Bell Biv Devoe: Never trust a big butt and a smile."

"Cute. You captured a friend of ours. One with the medical expertise…?"

"Medical expertise…that don't ring a bell."

"He's a black man with green eyes and a stethoscope. Don't tell me you don't know who I'm talking about."

"Oh, him. Nice man, screamed like a little bitch when I shot him."

That earned him a sharp crack in the face with her pistol. She'd see Carmen do it numerous times to tell her she'd done it right when his head jerks to the side and he spits out blood. He chuckles.

"Spicy. I like that. This some kind of fucked up foreplay, but I'm game. How about you untie me and we can make it even, bitch?"

She cracks him across the face again.

"Is. He. Alive?" she grits out, the barrel of the gun jammed into his jawbone.

"Fuck if I know. He was mighty unresponsive when I left him bleeding. I'm sure the crocodiles don't mind having a little snack. Just like the good ol' days…"

She punches him in the face with her left hand, tears stinging her eyes. Mike might be dead. He's…

He's dead.

"You monster. He was a nurse, he had medical knowledge…"

"You think I give a fuck? You and your Valkyries here took out my men and destroyed my property. There ain't enough fingers and toes in this room to make us square."

"I should kill you, I should—"

"-Before you put a bullet through that fucker's skull, you mind telling me why I'm tied up with this Conquistador fuck?"

"Because you made a stupid decision without consulting us. You could've sacrificed the whole operation and put us in jeopardy!"

"We got info that Conquistador here and his chicken fucks were coming here to ambush the people and set up shop. If they'd done it, we'd have all been fucked. I had to act fast."

"But you didn't consult—"

"Consult my dick. We had to do what was necessary."

"Vaas…"

"This isn't even the real reason, is it? You haven't talked to me in _three days_ , Dominique. What makes you think I'm going to break that code of silence and consult you? This is some bullshit excuse for something else. Are you still upset about what happened that night? Hmm?"

Her lips press themselves into a thin line.

"I knew it. I fucking knew it. You Americans are so fucking predictable. Do you know why I kissed you? Hmm? Do you know why I fucking kissed you? Because I toy with bitches like you for fun. Give a girl a little bit, let them crave more, and they'll do anything and not know you've robbed them blind." He laughs a bitter laugh. That laugh ignites a fiery rage in her gut. Don't get angry, Dominique. That's what he wants…

"You're lonely, weak, pathetic, with self-esteem so fucking low you're willing to drop your panties for every man that gives you a compliment. You know how easy that was? All I had to do was call you beautiful and you were on me like a bitch in heat, grinding into my lap, moaning in my ear. You probably would've let me fuck you, if I kissed you a little bit softer and whispered all the right lies in your ear…" his voice was too sweet for words that cruel; it makes her sick, makes her feel dirty.

She wanted nothing more than to run out of that hut; the air is thick, stifling her breath and making her head dizzy. Here he is, bound and at her mercy, making her feel powerless to his acid tongue.

"What's wrong, _beautiful_? Don't like being talked to like that? Don't want to hear the truth that you're a stupid little girl who's a pain in my ass? Don't want to hear my words because they hurt your delicate and fragile feelings?"

 _Beautiful_ now sounds sour; it punches her in the gut with a force so strong it makes her knees buckle.

 _Stupid little girl._

 _Bitch in heat._

 _Lonely._

 _Weak._

 _Pathetic._

 _You probably would've let me fuck you if I whispered all the right lies in your ear…_

When she feels hotness on her cheeks is when she realizes she's crying.

What happens next was a blur.

All she remembered was her fist colliding with Vaas' face and she didn't stop.


	18. Chapter 18: Tension

Tension

As Vaas feels his head throb and his body ache, he wonders if he underestimated his meek partner. He can't say he didn't deserve it; his mouth, before he gotten wiser and met Hoyt, would've always landed him in sticky situations. He backed a lioness into a corner and got shocked when she attacked and left behind scars.

Or, in his case, a bruised up face and body that almost tore the flesh desperately trying to heal.

Anika took over after Dominique's meltdown, keeping the questions short and sweet while remaining cold towards Vaas. Not that he cared; she wasn't as ruthless as Carmen, entertaining as Dominique, or even charismatic as Mike…

Mike, Mike, Mike. Dead by Colonial Fuck. What a pathetic way to die. Even Vaas would've let him die with some dignity.

Anika is talking now, her big words and boring rhetoric sounding like a Charlie Brown cartoon. Wah-wah-wah-wah-you should've talked to us-wah-wah-Dominique's feelings-wah-wah…

All white noise and static to Vaas' ears.

He stopped listening after _Dominique's feelings_ ; he's still sore about her playing Rocky with his face, torso, and legs. As far as he's concerned, her feelings are irrelevant unless she's on her hands and knees begging for forgiveness…

Hands and knees…

Fuck.

Now isn't the time to have thoughts that travel south.

"Vaas." Anika's voice snaps Vaas out of his thoughts. She's staring at him hard, hands on her hips.

"You hear a word I just said?" she asks clipped and cool, hand clutching his jawbone. Who knew her nails were this sharp…

"I heard you loud and clear."

"What did I just say?"

Why do women do this?

"I'm saying," she continues, "that we now have the threat in our possession. We need to snuff him out and go after Foster, Gaston, and—"

"That won't be a bright idea, considering their connections to all the well-known drug cartels in the game. Taking them out would be taking money out of their pockets. They'll be on this island faster than you can blink and all this shit is going down." Kingston interjects. He's getting tired of that Colonial Fuck...

"Those three have been cut off from their prospective cartels and have bounties on their head. If they vanish on this island, no one would notice or even care. As for you, some of them will come running for you, but this is an uncharted island. Anyone smart enough will know that going to an island without government restriction and civilization is not worth the battle to recover your lily-white ass." Anika is on him again, gun jammed in Kingston's face.

"So if I were you, I'd answer some of our questions and negotiate some deals, and we'll all walk away happy."

* * *

Vaas had to give it to her, Anika is one tough bitch. Getting a boat, some cash, freedom, the whereabouts of Mike, and the right communications all under an hour out of a tight-ass drug lord takes some skill.

"Leave us. I wish to talk to Vaas, alone. Keep Kingston squared away and be on the lookout for Dominique. She's…gone AWOL."

Military talk; he hasn't heard AWOL since that old black and white film Hoyt made him watch all those years ago. The warrior women grab Kingston and drag him away, leaving the two commanders alone.

It's a pissing contest, both seeing who would be the first one to talk. The silence is so thick one could cut it with a knife; Vaas can't stand silence.

"You owe Dominique an apology."

"An apology?" Vaas barks, a bitter chuckle escaping his voice, "you want me to apologize to a bitch that went a few rounds with my face? It wasn't even a fair fight."

"Please. Those are love taps compared to the battle scars you have. And to top it off, you played with her emotions. You don't do that to her. You don't do that to anyone. That's how you get people killed."

"I kill people for fun. You think I give a fuck?"

"You say that now, but I know it's just an act. Underneath that hard exterior, you're just as weak as the rest of us. In case you haven't noticed, Dominique saved our asses. If it wasn't for her quick thinking and turning against you, we would've easily been captured and our plans would've crumbled."

"You want a fucking medal, Dr. Phil? You want me to kiss her ass because her feelings got hurt?"

"I didn't say that. I'm saying that you were in the wrong for playing with someone's emotions, especially in a time like this. It creates a hostile environment—"

"I didn't plan it."

"What?"

"The fucking kiss. I wasn't…I wasn't thinking about it. She was on top of me, and it just fucking happened."

"You kissed her…?"

"Do you want it in writing? Yes, I fucking kissed her."

A pregnant pause.

Anika stares at him very hard, her arms crossed and her lips in a twist. After what felt like ages she says, "I'm going to recover Mike. You and Dominique should…talk." She nods her head and exits the cell.

Hours had passed before the crack of sunlight breaks out from the door's opening. In walks Dominique with a bucket, a sponge, and a first aid kit. She sits down on the stool across from him, her eyes sharp with a muted fire as she grabs the sponge and soaks up the water.

"Thought you went AWOL." Vaas began.

"They found me in the jungle. Didn't take long for them to drag me back to this shithole."

Her voice is scraped raw; she'd been crying.

"Hold still. I need to clean your face and dress your wounds. Your bandages need changing and the injuries on your body need to be disinfected. My nails dug into your skin a little too deeply."

"I fucking forgot about your sharp ass nails. But you made me remember, didn't you?"

She looks away in shame, the sponge massaging his cheek. It feels good; he restrains himself from leaning into the touch.

"I was wrong." She says, "I had no right losing control and putting my hands on you. My mama taught me better than that." She bites her lip.

"It felt good, I ain't ashamed to admit it. It felt good being the one in power. It felt so fucking good, until I thought about it after. I'm no different than you, and that's a punishment I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy."

"You had a power trip. You liked it, yeah? Tying me up, having people at your mercy, doing whatever the fuck you want with them and no one stopping you? Don't tell me it didn't turn you on when you pistol-whipped that Colonial Fuck." His eyes are on hers, and he learns the truth.

She definitely liked it.

"I'm not sick like you. I don't get off on people's misery."

"But you do. It felt good hitting me when I'm all tied up and can't defend myself…"

"That's because you're a fucking monster! A monster who cares about nobody but himself! You held us at gunpoint, murdered innocent people, kidnapped us and forced us into this predicament. I'm away from my _family_ , people who _love_ me, all because of _you_!"

"Don't give me that bullshit! Your actions are what brought you here, hermana. If you have anyone to blame, it's yourself."

"We were on a boat, far away from your island, trying to go to _Thailand_. Then, all of a sudden, your fucking brutes spotted us and attacked. We were dragged to this island, kicking and screaming. We wouldn't want to come to this piece of shit no-way no-how."

"It doesn't matter now. You got what you wanted. You can get the fuck off my island. After this, I want nothing to do with you."

"Same. You're the scum of the Earth. You're a crook, a junkie, and a psychopath. You will not be missed when you die."

"The only reason you're talking shit is because I'm tied up. Believe me, hermana, I could rip out your jugular with my teeth, snap your neck with only one arm and dislocate your hip with the stomp of my boot. I don't need my whole body to kill you."

"What's stopping you from taking action? You want to kill me so bad, why didn't you all those times you had the chance?"

"Because I like you. You're so much fun to fuck with."

"Fuck you."

"We all know you want to."

That earned him a slap in the face.

He licks the blood off his lip and smirks.

"Struck a nerve?" his nose is touching hers, their breaths mingling. Her hand is clutching his cheek so hard her nails are starting to cut into his flesh.

"You," she grits out, "make me _sick_."

"I make you _horny_. There's a difference. And let me be clear, hermana," his lips ghost over his ear,

"The feeling's mutual."


	19. Chapter 19: The Coffee Bean

The Carrot, the Egg, and the Coffee Bean

The freezing cold of the waterfall did little to cool the burning of her cheeks and the arousal in her belly that she's trying to push down. Dominique dunks her head down and rises, trying to clear her head. She's disgusted in herself, getting turned on by that smug, psychotic…

" _I make you_ horny _. There's a difference."_

If only she could just wipe that goddamn smirk off his face when her body arched into him…

She bites her lip so hard she feels the skin break.

 _His hands sliding up her waist as she grinds into his lap…_

She scrubs at her body with the soap.

 _His hardening member pressing against her through the thin fabric of his pants as she winds, evidence that he's enjoying it too…_

"Fuck," she grits out, taking large chunks of her hair and braiding it away from her face.

" _The feeling's mutual," he says in his ear, the tip of his tongue flicking over the shell of her ear and neck._

She dunks her head again back in the water, forcing herself to have self-restraint. This is wrong, so wrong on so many levels…

She hears a muffled voice as she's underwater. Anxious and fearful, she swims towards her hiding place for her gun…

"Dom? Dom, it's me, Anika. Are you here?"

She slowly creeps out of her hiding place and sees Anika crouched at the shore, covered in dirt and holding a fresh batch of clothes.

"Figured you'd be here. I need to bathe too. It's been a long day."

She strips in front of Dominique; Dominique sits at the shore to join her in her naked glory.

"How's Mike?" she asks.

"Stable. We got him on some sedatives with the medicine we found. Thank Gabriella for finding him when she did. He never would've made it." Anika's eyes become watery; she'd been crying for the past hour. Dominique rushes to hug her.

"It's okay. What matters now is that Mike is still alive and he's hanging on. He's fighting." Dominique offers. Anika nods.

"Yes. I don't know what to do with Kingston and Vaas. I don't think I'm capable of taking someone's life. They may have done horrible things, but I refuse to stoop that low…"

"We don't have to kill them…"

"Something needs to be done with them. They're a threat and a danger to this island and they have cost many of our women their families, their lives. They don't deserve to go unpunished."

"Then let the women have at them. They deserve revenge."

"Are we really capable of doing that? Let someone get torn to shreds while we look the other way…?"

"They kidnapped us, Anika. They kidnapped us, severely injured Mike, sold innocent people into slavery, and Kingston was about to wipe out an entire village with men, women, and children. They're not good guys."

"And neither are we. Do you know the horrific things we done when you were gone? We have blood on our hands."

"Because we did what we had to do to survive. We're survivors. We're not going down without a fight. We can hold a council and let the women deal with Kingston, his crew, and his men."

"Did I ever tell you about the story of the carrot, the egg, and the coffee bean?"

She turns to face her. What the hell is she going on about?

"What?"

"Did I ever tell you the story of the carrot, the egg, and the coffee bean?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Get three pots and put them on the stove and fill each with the same amount of water. Get a carrot, an egg, and a coffee bean in each pot. Bring them to a boil. The carrot starts out hard and becomes soft. The egg comes in fragile and comes out hard. The coffee bean, however, turns the water brown."

"What's this supposed to mean—"

"instead of letting the obstacles weaken you and change who you are, you change the obstacles and work the environment to your advantage. That's a testament to the strength of the coffee bean. It may look small, but the strength of that bean changes its environment compared to the carrot and the egg."

"What does that have to do with our decisions regarding Vaas and Kingston?"

"Kingston is the carrot that let the island break him and make him weak. Vaas is the egg that let the environment destroy his fragility and make him cold to the world. But you, you are the coffee bean. You can either let this island get to you too or you can change it. You still have your humanity; you still haven't taken a life. You still have the chance to break the cycle of violence here. No more people have to die."

"Why is it falling on me?

"Because," Anika's eyes sharpen.

"The island brought you here to end this madness."

* * *

Dominique wrings her hair out and twists it away from her face, ignoring the strands that cling to her face. She must look a mess right now, but she doesn't care; she needs to get away from this craziness. This is happening too much too fast; she captures Kingston, exchanges wordplay with a psychotic pirate who she has distinct sexual tension with, and now her best friend has drunk some hippie juice and is preaching about finding potential in others and it's her destiny. All in a span of a week.

This is too much.

Why is it her destiny? Does she have much of a choice? She reflects back on all that she's accomplished. She's saved a few villages, became a spy, slept with the enemy and lived to tell the tale, held on to her humanity and never took a life. And, despite all the horrors she'd witnessed, she still sees hope. There's got to be a better way out of this. She knows it.

Perhaps, Anika has a point.

Maybe she can make a difference.

* * *

She makes her way back into the holding cell where Vaas is. He's sweating bullets and groaning.

Her hands shake as the pail of cool water slowly lowers itself into the ground and she grabs the sponge.

"Hey. Anika sent me here to talk to you."

His eyes snap open, and a smirk dances on his lips.

"Want more foreplay? Got to tell you, hermana. Leaving your partner hot and bothered is a very impolite thing to do…"

"I'm not like you." She grits out.

"What?"

"I'm _not_. Like. You. I will _never_ be like you. I won't let this island get the best of me and turn me into a monster."

"Cute. Where's all this talk coming from? You got done watching Oprah and feel a need to tell me what a _strong, independent, woman_ you are?"

"Let those blows to your head be a warning, Vaas. I will not lose control. I will not, let this island break me and turn me into you. I still have my humanity and I'll hold on to it as long as I can."

"The island will chew you up and spit you out. No matter how much of those inspirational quote-bullshit you swallow, the island will break you and take away your humanity, your sanity. It will eat away at you until there's nothing left. You will be a shell of what you used to be."

"It won't. The island may have changed you, but it will never change me."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I am the coffee bean. Instead of my environment changing me, I change it for the better."

She presses the sponge to his face, determination in her eyes.

"People always underestimate the strength of a coffee bean until they realize it packs a serious punch."


	20. Chapter 20: Swallow Me

Chapter 20: Swallow Me

* * *

 **AN: Italics in this involve Vaas speaking his Rakyat tongue.**

* * *

Vaas groans in discontent, the bindings in his wrists cutting into his skin. Those bitches really tied it tight; there's no way in hell he's getting out of those knots.

Dominique irritated him, coming in talking about some vague American allegory about coffee beans and perseverance; that nonsense is better reserved for those cheesy 1990s American movies he'd purchase off bootleg. That sense of hope in her eye is admirable, even though he knows it won't be long before she's broken. She will be swallowed whole by the jungle; he will watch as her sanity is slowly stripped away until she becomes a husk of what she used to be.

He went through that path, now she will follow.

Part of him wonders what will become of his fate; death seems like a more reasonable option, considering the animosity against his remaining people for his betrayal over a decade ago. They never understood his reasoning, his motives, his secret desires…

And they never will once the death sentence has been administered and he will face his death, and his demons, head on like a man.

He knew the day would come when he'd be forced to answer for his sins; perhaps Jason doing him in would've spared him such a task. He needed more time, more time to right his wrongs. Didn't the island grant him such a wish? Why else would they bring these…passengers, one with eyes that haunts him with the image of his mother…?

" _Son."_

 _Who said that?_

" _Son,"_ the voice whispered in his native tongue, this time with more urgency. He feels cool hands glide over his scalp, the smooth touch making goosebumps on his skin.

" _Son, what have you done?"_

He feels soft black hair tickle his neck as the hands connect to a body that's in front of him. it's his mother, wearing a white dress that flows, her curly black hair draped over her shoulders, flowers and her tatau glowing, despite the darkness and grime. She looks the same way she did when she died, only happier, younger, softer.

Vaas feels his eyes prick with unshed tears.

" _Mama, it's been so long…"_

"Shh…" her thin finger presses against his lips.

" _Son, you have disappointed me so. You've turned your back on your people, taken away innocent lives, corrupted your body with the poisons of those white men. You've lost your way, son."_

Her soft eyes and frown riddle Vaas with guilt. He wants to tell her that he had no choice, that what Citra and him did…

He swallows the lump in his throat.

" _Mama, you have to understand…"_

" _I understand, son. I knew. I knew everything."_ She looks down and faces him.

" _Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you tell me that Citra did those things to you?"_

The lump got stronger.

" _I was…I was…I was afraid."_ Tears fell. He found himself sobbing; he's never cried like this since his mom died. He unravels at his mother's mercy, years of holding that secret from his mother finally coming to the light.

" _I was afraid you'd think I wasn't strong. I was afraid of bringing shame to our family. I was afraid of ruining us, our family. I did it to protect us. It was supposed to be my cross to bear…"_

"Shh…" arms wrap around him.

" _I'm here, son. I'm here. You are a warrior, but you are my son first. You know I'd do anything to protect you and Citra. You are strong, my son. You are strong."_

" _You told me to take care of her. I've failed you, Mama. I've failed."_

" _You did the best you could do. Citra chose that path. It was her decision whether or not you beat it out of her. Killing her would've been the best option, but she's gone, now. She has passed on and has to answer for her mistakes. Her hands have been stained with innocent blood and corruption long enough."_

She presses her lips to his temple. The cool touch keeps his anxiety at bay.

" _Mama, I wish…I wish I could just turn back time and…stay. Stay with me, right here, forever."_ He tries to bury his face into her neck, but can't. All he could get was a whiff of what she used to smell like, try to burn her in his memory so she could stay there and not fade away like before.

" _I wish I could, Vaas, but I can't. I have to leave you again, and it pains me to do it, but I have to. I'm here to give you a message, son."_ She looks at him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

" _What's the message?"_

" _You will redeem yourself and clean the slate from our family name. Our legacy will continue and it will be in glory and peace. The next generation will change these islands for the better."_

" _The next generation—"_

" _I have to go, Vaas. But please, try. Try, for me."_ She begins to fade away.

" _Mama, mama don't, don't leave me like this…"_

" _What a handsome man you are. I wish I was there to watch you grow more."_

" _Mama, please…stay…"_ he can't hold back the tears. Before she vanishes, she looks at Vaas and with a warm smile she says,

" _We'll meet again very soon. I can't wait to see you again, Vaas. I love you."_ All that was left of her was a small mist, escaping through the thin cracks of sunlight.

It was just him now.

" _I love you, too."_ He whispers, breaking into a cry.

" _I love you so much, Mama. Come back to me."_

* * *

Vaas awakes to the rough hands of Rakyat women as they cut his binds and slam him into the ground. Anika stands over him, boot in his back.

"It's Judgment Day." She says gravely. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees rope, stones, and a burlap sack.

He's going to die.

They'll throw him in the waters, and he'll let them. He'll let the waters swallow him whole and spit out his bones.

He's ready to meet his family again on the other side.

"I'm ready." He says. They won't get an ounce of fear out of him. he'll greet death with kindness and familiarity. His soul will be at peace and he'll be reborn.

The water will swallow his soul and cleanse him anew.


	21. Chapter 21: Salvation

Salvation

* * *

 **AN: This is a lengthy chapter to make up for all the times I left you all hanging! Enjoy! :)**

* * *

2 hours ago

"You can't be serious." Dominique's eyes widen like saucers. Anika sharpens her knife, her face grim in the moonlight.

"It needs to be done."

"Anika, this isn't the movies. There's no way this is going to work!"

"Trust me, I know what I'm doing."

Dominique puts her knees to her chest and rocks herself. This island is making everyone crazy; she's starting to be the only one with sense.

Vaas is in the room before them, talking in a language they can barely decipher. He's hallucinating, it seems; did someone slip him a hallucinogen? An Amanaki mushroom, perhaps? No one truly knows.

Could they do it? Could they truly hold a trial that could hold Vaas' fate in their hands? They were supposed to get off this island once they had Vaas and Kingston under their control. The boat is locked and loaded, ready for them to chuck up the deuces and get the hell out of here. And yet, here they are, deciding to play hero once more and thrust themselves into more danger.

It's common sense; this has nothing to do with them, so why get in it? Mike is injured, Carmen is suffering from PTSD, and all of them need to go back home to their normal lives and let their families know they're still breathing. How long had they been out here? Days? Weeks? Months? How long has it been before their parents notice they're missing and give up hope looking for them? How will Dominique respond when she comes home and she sees her family having a candlelight vigil and mourning over her supposed death?

It makes her heart heavy thinking about it.

"We need to go _home_ ," she hisses at Anika. She grabs her by the lapels of her shirt. "Back to our _families_ , our _friends_ , our _loved ones_. There's absolutely _nothing_ for us here." She snarls at her.

"We got no business trying to play God. We need to get on that boat, sail to the nearest civilization with a hospital, get Mike better, call an Embassy, and get the fuck back home where this is nothing more than a story we tell when we're drunk or on our deathbed."

"In case you haven't been paying attention, that isn't going to happen." Anika pushes her aside.

"If we leave this instant, there would be days, weeks, before we reach civilization and the state that Mike is in he would die before he hits the shore. He's in no condition to leave and we obviously can't leave him behind."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"You think I'm joking?"

"Why can't we just go to the other side of the island? Why do we need to get involved?"

"We started this shit, we're finishing it."

"What is this going to come to?"

"If Vaas is guilty, he'll be killed."

"Killed…are you…you can't…"

"You said so yourself; he's a threat to the island and others."

"He's helped us fight against Kingston and…"

"We've captured all of them. Their trials will begin after his."

"Anika, what happens if he's not guilty?"

"That decision is up to you, Dominique. You'll be defending him."

She's stunned. She has to defend Vaas' life? When did everyone all of a sudden appoint her as Vaas' keeper?

"You've been around him the longest, you know his character. If you can prove his methods of redemption, then his punishment or sentence will be doled out by you by which you see fit."

"So now I'm his executioner? What punishment seems the most fair to a man who needs a few nights in the psych ward?"

"Counseling, community service," Anika sniffs, "rehab?"

"Fitting choices for a man who's killed several people."

"You did say he needs a few nights in the psych ward."

"Anika, I don't know if we should do this. This plan is going to blow up in our faces."

"You don't have much of a choice. Either you defend him, possibly save his life and keep watch over him until he proves he's competent enough to look after himself, or you let him die. It's really that easy."

"It doesn't sound easy. I can't live with myself if someone dies because of me…"

"Didn't you tell him he wouldn't be missed when he dies?"

"…Were you eavesdropping on our conversation…?"

"The holding hut's walls are extremely thin. Anyone within 5 miles could hear you. Now answer the question."

"…Yes," Dominique grits her teeth, "I did say that, but I was talking shit because I was upset with him and he was defenseless."

"Can I ask you a serious question, Dom?"

"Shoot."

"Did you two ever…fuck?"

"Jesus, Anika…"

"Answer the question. Did you two fuck?"

"No."

"Do you want to fuck him?"

Heat roars in her gut, spreading to her inner thighs before creeping up to her cheeks. Memories of that night play in her head, fantasies of what could've been flashing before her eyes.

"Oh, my God, Dominique. Your face says it all!" Anika hisses, eyebrows knit, her eyes wide, her lips twist in disgust.

" _I can't_ _believe_ _you want to fuck the enemy!_ "

" _Now isn't the time to be judging me!_ It's just sexual tension. A few cold showers and a few dates with my hand will have me right as rain."

"Is this going to cloud your judgment with the trial?"

"I'm _23_ , not 13. I can weigh the facts and not let his dick cloud my judgment."

"You sure…?"

"Anika, you've known me since Junior High. You know my character."

"True. Let's get this trial started."

* * *

Dominique's stomach does backflips, heat pooling at the bottom. Vaas stands beside her, bound and with a blank expression. His usual mouthy self is silent and it unnerves her.

"Whew, lovely weather out here," she says under her breath, hoping it'd peak some snippy remark or so much as a smirk. Nothing. Instead, Vaas looks out into the river, a calm smile etched on his face.

He's calm and…happy.

She's officially fearing for her safety.

"Alright, people of Rakyat. Today we will decide whether Vaas Montenegro is worthy of life or death as we weigh his sins against the island. I am Anika, the doctor and judge of this island. The accused will be defended by none other than Dominique, the spy, cook, and hairstylist for this island. All rise!"

Every woman and child stands, many of them staring at Vaas with looks that kill. This is going to be harder to defend him than she thought.

"We have a witness to Vaas' descent into decadence. High Priestess Vera. Vera, come forward."

The crowd splits in two to make way for an elderly woman with a cane, long gray hair, and multiple tribal markings on her face and body. Her head is adorned in feathers, flowers, and bones, her ears wide with pierced ears. She stands before Dominique and Vaas, her blue eyes freezing her to the spot. Even though Vaas is the guilty one, Dominique feels persecuted.

"High Priestess Vera, how long have you known Vaas Montenegro?"

"Since he was a young lad, no older than seven. He was the greatest warrior of the Rakyat; he had to work twice as hard to rise above the ranks because he was a _mutt_. He would've never earned the ranks the same way a purebred Rakyat would've. He's honorable, that's for sure." She scratches her chin and grins.

"His mother was a remarkable woman. Patient, kind, ruthless and strong. She brought our island glory time and time again when she fought outsiders. And then, she met that…man," she scrunches her face.

"That man was my _father_ , you old bitch." Vaas barked.

"You were never this way! You used to be great! You used to be respectful of your elders! Those outsiders have corrupted you and rotted you from the inside out!"

"I was already corrupted, and you knew. And before I die, I might as well speak the truth. You _saw_ what went on. _You saw_. Don't you fucking _dare_ stand in front of all these people and _lie_. I know you're not too old to forget what happened when I left. That little _fight_ me and Citra had. _The fight that gave me this fucking scar_."

He shows the scar on his head to Vera before looking her back in the eye. People gasp, chatter and hushed whispers becoming deafening to Dominique's ears.

"Those drugs have fried your brain, Vaas. You got polluted by those drugs and lies Hoyt fed you. You chose the outsider way and turned your back on your people!"

"Because our people are fucked up! What _people_ sees a boy getting _raped_ , by his _own fucking sister_ , and looks the other way? What _people_ allows my _psycho-bitch sister_ to rise to power and ruin the island, huh? Tell me!" Vaas' voice booms, making everyone jump. He's breathing hard through his nose, the vein on his neck popping and the red in his face blossoming. All Dominique could do is stare at him, processing the information. He was _raped_? By his _sister_? This is all too much…

"Don't you _dare_ talk about Citra that way! You speak blasphemy! Lies!" Vera's in his face now, jamming her cane into his chest.

"Put my hand on the motherfucking Bible and smite me if I am."

"This…" Dominique swallows thickly. "this man is a victim of sexual abuse. By a family member nonetheless. His violent outbursts, his actions against your people, it's all resentment from that traumatic experience. Instead of you guys helping him and giving him support, you did nothing." Her eyebrows narrow.

"You let it happen." Her fists clench.

"It wasn't our place to interfere! What happens with that family stayed with that family…" Vera counters.

"When a child is being sexually abused by a family member, it becomes _your place_ to _interfere_! I'm not, in any way, justifying the acts he's done. We can all agree this guy is an asshole and a walking danger to human life, but we can't judge him without knowing why he is the way he his. He's not just a victimizer, he's a victim." She looks over at him.

"Killing him isn't the answer; it's not going to bring back the lives lost, reverse the damage, and rewind the years you're never going to get back. Killing him when you've already failed him as a people isn't going to make the situation better. If anything, it'll make it worse. It will create more people like Vaas, more people that thinks the way he thinks and bring mayhem to your island. Instead of eradicating the problem with violence, we should fix the problem by addressing it, counseling it, and making peace with it."

She takes a deep breath.

"Vaas Montenegro is a damaged man, but he has made change. He has proved that he can change for the better. Look at what we've accomplished; he has whipped the women into shape, utilized cooperation, and it's because of him lives are saved and Kingston is in custody. He's not too far gone from the Rakyat warrior you all know."

"He helped us because he didn't want to face the wrath of the Rakyat women," Anika interrupted.

"…He didn't just help us because of the fear. He helped us because, like you said, he is a pragmatist. He thinks with reason once he's sobered up. You all know this."

Voices of disgruntled agreement broke out through the 'jury'. She's doing a good job. Time to finish.

"To conclude, _your honor_ ," she juts her chin to Anika, "Vaas is not a monster by choice. He is nothing more than a victim of his environment. Hurt people hurt people; this in no way excuses his crimes, but this does give insight to his mind. He needs help and counseling, not to be thrown in the river. I say, let this man go and give him the help he needs."

More chatter.

"Ladies, what is the fate of Vaas Montenegro?" Anika addresses the Rakyat women.

"We are still processing the information that's been given to us. Sexual abuse is an abominable crime, especially among family members. With a name of Talugmai, if the allegations are true…then Citra Talugmai would have to face the courts had she not been deceased. Her title would be tarnished and she would be a stain in the hearts of our people. If you are lying about our Priestess Citra, Vaas, lying on one's reputation is a very serious offense and a new low-"

"Why would I lie about that, huh? That old bitch saw. She saw what she did to me." He makes eye contact with Vera.

"Don't you dare lie to these people."

"T'is true. Vaas, for once in his miserable life, is telling the truth." Vera acquiesces, glaring at him.

"Then Vaas isn't guilty of his crimes by plea of sexual abuse and insanity." Anika announces.

"His sentence will be—"

BANG.

Static rings in Dominique's ears; everything seems to move in slow motion when Vaas drops to the ground and falls in the river.

"Vaas!"

More gunshots erupt, hitting women and a few children as they flee.

"What's happening? _What's_ _happening?_ " Anika screams over the gunfire; Dominique sees Vaas' sinking body descend even deeper into the water; he'll die if she doesn't do anything…

An explosion erupts not too far from where she stood; she escaped the shrapnel and fallout by diving into the water to retrieve Vaas.

His blank eyes stare up at her as she dives lower, reaching out her arm to grab his. He looks so calm, so still; she fears he's gone. The blood oozes from his chest; the sharks will sniff it out and they need to move quick.

Grabbing him, she pulls him up and they both pop their heads out, Dominique gasping for air. She needs to fight the current but they're too strong; if she grabs on to a piece of wood or a log, she might have leverage to get to the other side to safety.

"Stay with me, Vaas," she pants out, "don't tap out on me, now."


	22. Chapter 22: Mother

Mother

" _Vaas, Vaas you have to go back."_

 _Light swallows him whole; Vaas sees his mother looking down at him, her eyes soft and worrisome._

" _You have to go back. It's not your time yet. You have to go back."_

" _I don't want to. I want to stay right here with you. We have so much to talk about, Mama." His hand, clean and pure from his days living, touches her cheek._

" _Honey." she closes her eyes, tears falling from them as she grabs his hand and places it in the sand._

" _You have to go back."_

 _Vaas…_

 _Vaas…_

"…Vaas!"

 _I want you to remember…_

"…Wake up! You can't die on me, you asshole!"

 _That I love you very much…_

"…Fuck me, I carried a _corpse_ with me for _15 miles!_ "

 _And I forgive all that you have done in your past…_

"…Not like this, Vaas. You can't go out like this, you fucking pussy!"

 _Promise me you'll change for the better…_

His head is throbbing with an excruciating pain. His mouth tastes metallic and he feels hands pushing into his chest. Blood sprays out of his mouth and it's then he opens his eyes and sees none other than Dominique standing over him, her face red and shiny from tears.

Had she been…crying? Over him?

"You…you…"

"Shh…you need to rest. From now on, until your wounds heal, you're going to have to depend on me for survival. I'll take care of the food, shelter, and combat. You're going to have to trust me on this."

"No…no…"

"Vaas, you have no other choice. You're too weak to move. I have experience; I lived in the bayous of Louisiana when I was 6 for a couple of years. I know how to hunt and navigate watery terrain. These aren't swamps, but these are bodies of waters that hold crocodile. We can eat that."

His eyes widen in disbelief. She's full of shit; there's no way Dainty Little Island Bitch is some backwoods country girl who lived in the swamps. It's surreal.

"Why…did you…tell me…now?"

"Because it slipped my mind until this happened and I never thought my grandma's teachings will be placed in this scenario."

' _Fuck. Me.'_ Vaas thinks to himself. Dominique seems to see his thoughts and she becomes more desperate with her plea.

"Let me prove myself to you! I'll show you; I'll bring you crocodile meat. Okay? Trust me, Vaas."

' _I've trusted you enough and look where it got me. Fucked over, beaten, shot, nearly drowned, and most importantly stuck up Shit Creek without a paddle with a bitch who, at the last minute, decides to be useful. Some trust.'_

"I'm sorry, Vaas. I know that won't do much, but I'm so fucking sorry. I thought if I save your life, it could prove how much…"

"You should've…let…me die."

Her face falters; it gives Vaas some satisfaction. Those brown eyes lock on to his and his mother's face haunts him. Dominique's face morphs into his mother's, her sad eyes ridding him with guilt.

"Trust me, Vaas. Let me prove myself to you. Let me make up for all the fuck up's I've done in the past." She says, her soft hands stroking his cheek. He nods his head.

"How can I ever say no to you, Mama? How can I ever say no?" he leans into the touch. His mother's expression of calm turns to concern and confusion.

"Oh…kay, Vaas. Let me place you somewhere safe so I could hunt. That meat should help you build your strength."

"Okay, Mom. I love you."

"…I love you…too, Vaas."


	23. Chapter 23: Crocodile Tail

Crocodile Tail

Sweat dots Dominique's brow as she slices through the foliage with ease, looking back at Vaas to see if he's okay. His fate is in her hands; one fuck-up and she might wind up with a dead pirate and a guilty conscience.

She doesn't even know why she had to lie to Vaas like that; she didn't necessarily _live_ in the bayous when she was six. She vacationed there when she was six; she spent a few months with her country bumpkin grandma Mama Reese (God rest her soul) in an eerie swamp-house, who taught her how to fish, hunt, cook, clean, make firewood and skin a hog in less than fifteen minutes. Dominique may be a spoiled city girl, but she can wield an ax like no other and wrestle a hog with the best of them.

As for crocodile, that was more of Mama Reese's expertise; she'd catch them with her bare hands and kill them using a kitchen knife and grit. The way she did it made it look easy, even though the crocodiles she caught were huge, mean, and scary. But the meat was worth the battle; she remembered her belly getting full over those warm nights they had crocodile for dinner.

She looks at the murky waters, knowing a crocodile is lurking, waiting for its next meal.

The way Mama Reese would do it was put her foot in the water, made the reptile think she's just another dumb swimmer and takes the bait. Once she felt the crocodile getting closer she threw the net over it, dragged it to shore and beat it into submission before slitting its throat.

Sounds easy…right?

A lily pad moves and she sees the telltale signs of a crocodile eyeing her.

It's now or never.

If she dies, at least she died trying to prove herself to Vaas, if he lives through it, that is.

She peels off her shoe and sock, her naked foot in need of a manicure, and slides it into the water.

Shuddering breath, she sees the head dive under and come towards her.

Swallowing thickly, she yanks her foot to shore and beckons the reptile to come closer.

"Come here, boy," she says in a faux Southern accent, mimicking her Mama Reese. It usually works.

"Come on here and get this tender meat. It's hot and fresh."

The crocodile comes toward her, ravenous eyes drinking her in. It was at this moment she forgot two crucial details. 1) These fuckers are fast. 2) She provoked a crocodile…without the necessary equipment. She's unarmed; she doesn't have a giant meat tenderizer to beat the crocodile with, nor does she got the netting. All she has is a dull machete.

Fuck.

"Easy, boy. I was joking about the meat…"

The crocodile charges her, snapping its jaws. She swings the machete downward, the blade hitting the crocodile…and snapping clean off. She holds back the handle in horror and breaks off into a sprint, the reptile on her heels.

Her eyes flit back and forth and she finds a sharp stick; this is her best option. She grabs it and, after uttering a quick prayer, charges at the reptile, aiming for its eye…

Leave it to nature to make her slip and fall, the crocodile latches on to her dress. Before it could connect to flesh, she jams the stick into the crocodile's eye as hard as she can.

It was a gross endeavor; blood spurts onto her, the crocodile howls in pain, and the pulp from the eye clings on to her stick as she jerks it out. This is a bad mistake; this seems cruel, inhumane, to blind an animal like this. It's best to put it out of its misery.

She stabs its other eye with twice the force. Blinded, the crocodile rolls on its side, snapping its jaws. Sucking in a deep breath, she pierces the stick deep into its neck and jerks it sideways, slitting it.

The crocodile is dead.

"I'm sorry," she whispers to the carcass before dragging it to Vaas' hiding spot. She'll set up camp and prepare the meat upon his awakening. After seeing he's safe, hidden away in the shell of a giant tree, she rifles through his pockets and finds a paring knife. Sighing, she eyes the carcass and closes her eyes tightly.

She's going to have her hands full.

* * *

Night fell when she finally got the fire started and set up shelter using the sticks and banana leaves lying around. Skewering yet another piece of crocodile meat she places it in the fire, waiting for Vaas to wake up.

He comes to in less than an hour, groaning and trying to sit up.

She rushes to him, fresh meat on a stick, and guides the meat to his mouth.

"Shh…dinner." She says with a smile. Vaas takes a bite, chewing softly before nodding his head in content.

"What's this?"

"Crocodile." She answers with pride, brandishing the crocodile's head.

Vaas eats more, his cheeks full of the meat.

"This is delicious."

"Thank you. It wasn't easy finding some spices to…"

"Thank you." He looks over at her. The fire's glow highlights the youth in his face, his eyes well rested and lacking the bags that's normally there. He looks calmer, saner, even.

"You're welcome. Didn't I say I'd work hard to get you your crocodile meat?"

He nods his head, stuffing his face even further.

"Let me check your chest." She feels for the empty crater where the bullet hit his chest, satisfied to see the flesh slowly knitting themselves together through the thin sheet of bandages she had.

"You're doing good. You need to get some more rest, though. You're going to need all of your strength for when we figure out what's going on…"

"You sound like her."

"Like who?"

"My mother." He answers before biting into another piece of meat.

"I hope that's a good thing."

"Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't." he looks up at her.

"You remind me of her so much it drives me crazy. I don't know whether to choke you or hug you every time I see those big doe eyes. It's…it's confusing you know." He moves closer, his hand cupped around her throat. She takes a sharp intake of breath, eyes watching him as she fights her lips from quivering.

"I never…I never said goodbye to her when she died." His thumb strokes her trachea, eyes cast downward.

"She never got a chance to watch me grow up. If she saw what a fuck-up I've become, I wonder if…if she'll still love me."

"She…she should." She blurts out. "A mother's love is always unconditional."

"Is it?"

His thumb presses oh so gently; she swallows out of reflex.

"Yes, Vaas. A real mother would love…love their kids…regardless…of the mistakes they've made."

He snorts, the thumb eases the pressure and goes back to stroking.

"That'd be something she'd do. She's so sweet…so gentle. The way she'd smell, the things she did, even how her voice sounded when she talked, it was all so soothing and calm. She'd always keep me calm when I was going crazy."

He looks over at the meat.

"That would be something she'd do; feed me while I'm sick in bed." He chuckles.

"She's haunting me through you." He inches closer, his nose touching hers.

"This is some fucked up Freud shit, isn't it?" he whispers to her like a dirty secret, "You truly crave the one who reminds you of your mother, no?"

He watches her like a hawk, and once again Dominique feels powerless to him. She feels scared, confused, yet intrigued, as his hand stays on her neck. His lips touch hers in seconds; she feels the world spin and her head getting light as her breath leaves her. She kisses back, her hand gingerly prying his hand off her neck while she strokes her jawline.

He pushes her to the dirt, his lips connecting to her neck. Her head is dizzying; she knows where this is going and despite her reservations, she wants this, she craves this. She buries her hands in his Mohawk as he bites into her neck, his teeth dangerously close to her jugular. Even in this, especially in this, she knows he wants the threat of danger around her corner, he wants to keep her in fear of who's really pulling the strings. And she'll let him. Oh, God…she'll let him…

"Sing to me, _Mama_."

Her world halts. The high fades and a sinking feeling settles in her belly.

"No," she whispers, her eyes pricking with tears, "no."

His mother.

She reminds him of his mother.

He…

She pushes him off of her and scrambles away from him, trying to catch her breath.

"What's wrong? I thought…I thought this is…" he angrily sighs before running his fingers through his hair and pulling.

"What the _fuck_ do you _want_ from me, _Citra_?" he shouts at her, making her flinch. He seems to notice his mistake; his eyes widen in shock.

"Oh, fuck. Oh…shit." He sits in fetal position, rocking himself back and forth.

"This is fucked up. I'm so fucked up…I'm so fucked in the head…" he breaks into a sob. Dominique sits frozen, unsure of what to do. She sits there, watching his breakdown, helpless. Tears stream down her face, she hastily wipes them away and realize that she's crying not for him, but for herself.

She's broken.


	24. Chapter 24: Maybe I Don't Kill You

Chapter 24: Maybe I Don't Kill You

Vaas runs his fingers through his hair, craving a cigarette, some rum, maybe a couple of lines of that Grade A hard candy. Anything to keep his nerves at bay and prevent him from snapping Dominique's neck in two.

It's been at least a week since that night; Dominique pretends it didn't happen but Vaas wants to talk about it, clear the air. He hates her American way of thinking; instead of handling their problems head on, they'd like to sweep things under the rug. This dishonesty makes him grind his teeth as he musters the strength to slash away at the foliage.

He kept thinking about that night and feels a small amount of shame and guilt. He never intended to say her name, it just slipped out at the worst time.

The wounds have been healing nicely, but slowly; he's going to need more restful nights and plenty of fluids to keep him going. Dominique is more than happy to play his nurse: getting him food, water, checking on his bandages and using scraps of her clothes to dress them. Her somewhat modest attire has diminished to a crop top and panties, heightening the sexual tension.

He knows he needs a good fuck to calm his nerves; he just wants Dominique to quit playing around and give them what they both want. There's so many pros to this; they unwind, orgasms do a body good, and hopefully she'll take that stick out of her ass and actually do what she's told. And most importantly, they won't be at each other's throats.

But no; Dominique wants to be coy, doesn't want to take what she wants, despite the huge amount of benefits. Vaas can't stand the coquettish; being upfront and aggressive is how you get the results you really want. He likes in charge women, women with power, women like…

He'd much rather not think about her.

He slashes through the foliage with more aggression. Dominique is fanning herself, muttering about air conditioners and mosquitoes. Her voice is slowly grating on his nerves; he liked her when she was moody and quiet.

"Shut the fuck up for a second." Vaas says over his shoulder. Dominique scoffs.

"Whatever. Asshole…" she mutters. She keeps quiet the rest of the way, trailing behind Vaas with a look that kills. Vaas doesn't care; he needs to snuff out that Colonial Fuck and his cohorts and do it fast. It's one thing to fuck with his island, it's another to try to kill a man when he's down. They were going to get an honorable death but not anymore. When Vaas gets a hold of them, they won't even get the decency to be sent back home in a body bag.

He'll send their dicks, mail it to the doorstep of their families. He'll kill them, send Dominique and her friends back to the shithole they call a country, and live the rest of his days on his island unbothered. He'll take his rightful place as king and reverse the damage Citra inflicted upon the island during her reign. He'll get clean, he'll ward off any more outsiders, he will go down in the history books as a man of royalty and strength. No more will he be remembered as a Rakyat warrior who lost his way and brought shame to his mother's name; he will rewrite history…

"Ouch!"

He looks. Dominique nurses her ankle, which is bleeding profusely. He assesses the damage and notices the environment and blanches. Her injury was from a toxic plant that, without getting the necessary antidote, is going to slowly kill her.

Leave it to her to be the damsel in distress that always needs saving.

* * *

"Vaas, put me down! Your injuries…your…inn…juries…" Dominique falls slack against him, drooling lazily on his shoulder.

The last remnants of Dr. Earnhardt's work are somewhere outside of his greenhouse; if he could just find some of those plants…

He remembered.

Dr. Earnhardt's lab and his home was destroyed weeks ago.

He'd kill Citra himself if she was still alive.

Dominique groans, her body temperature spiking; it's starting.

"You never cease to _fucking_ amaze me," He slashes through foliage. Finding a safe place, he throws her to the ground, already setting up camp.

"You lie to me, you hide stuff from me, you save my ass when I didn't _fucking_ ask for it. Now you've decided to be stupid and get pricked by one of the most toxic plants this island has to offer, the antidote nowhere in sight. Fuck me!" he throws her down on the grass. Her face shiny with sweat, her body soaked and her once well-kept mane tangled and clinging to her face in tightly coiled strands. The vulnerability makes it easier to kill her, to yank that thorn out of his side once and for all. It's super quick; all he has to do is wrap her fingers around her throat and squeeze…

His fingers cup around her neck, his thumbs grazing her trachea. He looks at her unassuming face and feels heat pool in his gut. Her lips, those soft, plump lips, parted and enticing, a soft moan escaping from them.

He swallows thickly.

Dominique, oblivious and sickly, tilts her head back limply, baring her neck for him to see. He remembers that night and drops her, hands leaving her like a bad burn.

Those thoughts…he shouldn't be having those thoughts when she's lying there, vulnerable and…

"Vaas…" she moans softly, laying on her side.

"Vaas…"

"Shut up… _shut the fuck up_ …" he hisses. "You're going to die anyway…I don't even know why I'm even…"

He jolts when her hand touches him, stroking his calf and working its way up.

"Vaas," she whines, "Vaas…"

He grabs her hand and tosses it aside. He straddles him once more, his hips pinning hers and her hands pinned with one hand, his other on her mouth.

He should leave her, kill her, remove one of the many pains in his ass. He should…

His hand moves from her mouth to her neck, slowly down to the dip of her breasts…

"I kept thinking…about that night we kissed," he confesses. "You have no idea how badly I want to fuck you, how badly I just want to slam you against this tree and fuck you until you can't talk anymore."

"I also want to kill you. I want to kill you and stuff your body in my trunk for all the headaches you've caused me. I'm stuck here; I want to kill you and I want to fuck you at the same time. Isn't that fucking crazy?" he laughs.

His hand rises to cup her chin, fingers squishing into her cheeks.

"You're lucky I owe you. I'll save your ass this one last time. Alright?"

He jerks her head back and forth.

"Alright! Let's get to finding you that antidote" He starts the fire, inching her closer to him for warmth as he grills the meat he's found.

"In the meantime, I'm going to tell you a story."


	25. Chapter 25: Bedtime Stories

The Hairstylist

Chapter 25: Bedtime Stories

" _Once upon a time, there was a brave, powerful Rakyat warrior who fell in love with a Spanish priest."_

Dominique sees darkness, her body weightless as she floats through the abyss, trying to figure out her surroundings. Flash of red greets her eyes and she sees a painting of a woman, dressed for battle, pointing a spear at a passive man in a vicar. He holds his hands up, smiling at the warrior woman. Then, she lowers her spear and caresses his cheek.

" _The Spanish priest came to the Rakyat islands to convert the 'savage' Rakyat people into God fearing Christians. He was one of the many Christians who wanted to convert and help those damned souls from their lives of sin. But, he met a Rakyat warrior. Her name was Bulan. She was a respected Rakyat warrior and prestigious leader, a bloodline of Rakyat royalty. She introduced him to the ways of her people and he in turn taught her the way of his religion. It didn't take long for the two to fall in love and, see each other in secret."_

Dominique sees the priest coming to the island with nuns and bibles, trying to convert the disadvantaged children while tending to their wounds. The Rakyat warrior stands in the corner, watching him with disdain. She's fleshed out, now; smooth dark skin, long black hair that fans her face in waves and curls, her eyes dark and intimidating. Her toned and stocky body bore markings and scriptures that Dominique can't decipher. She storms over to him, her hair slicing through the air with every step.

"Your kind have no business here." She says, short and finite. The priest looks back at her, a smirk on his lips.

"Why, the Lord's work is my business. Ms…?"

"My name is Bulan, foreigner. I'm the Rakyat warriors' leader. Give me one good reason why your head shouldn't be used as a decoration in my trophy room."

The priest gulps.

"May I ask what garners such hostility from you?"

She snorts.

"You come to my island, trying to corrupt the minds of the injured with your lies and fairytales of a forgiving God while turning a blind eye to the chaos you cause. You priests," she spits, "you priests are all the same."

"But hermana," the priest grabs her hand gently, smoothing over the scars on her knuckles, "I'm not like most priests." He smiles a soft smile. Bulan retracts her hand, scrunching her face in confusion.

"Walk with me, hermana. Let's try to understand one another." He gestures his hand out to her, bowing his head in respect. Bulan looks at his hand and at the man graciously baring himself, and takes it.

The atmosphere fades to night, with Dominique, a wary bystander, finding the two entangled in each other under the blanket of darkness, the moon highlighting their afterglow.

"You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen." The priest confesses. He kisses her shoulder softly, brushing a lock of hair away from her back.

"When I'm with you, I feel…I feel I know what it's like to be in Heaven."

Bulan laughs.

"You're a fool, Father. A fool." She turns to face him, a smile on her lips. They share a kiss, and Dominique knew from a kiss like theirs there's more to their story. Their kiss was intimate, gentle, sweet; Dominique felt ashamed for watching their private moment, so she looks away.

" _Their secret love was exposed when she became pregnant with the priest's child. The priest had the option of denying that child's bloodline to save his reputation but he decided that being a father was more important than being a son of God. He was no longer Father Montenegro; he was Malachi Montenegro, a traitor who forsake God for the Rakyat savage in order to be there for his child, the ultimate sacrifice. The two became loving parents, even with Bulan's marriage to another Rakyat warrior, Argo Talugmai, and produced a pure heir, who later became a Rakyat high priestess. Her name was Citra Talugmai. She didn't know it, but she was born in the middle of racial strife and cultural clashes."_

Dominique hears shouting and ducks when a plate smashes against the wall by her.

"Oh, _very mature_ , Bulan! You narrowly missed _our son_!"

A boy, no younger than six, stands at attention, biting his lips and trying to stand tall, but his legs are trembling.

"You are so _frustrating_!" Bulan shrieks, throwing another plate. Malachi catches it this time.

"Why do you insist on being difficult? Why couldn't you leave things the way they are? Why do you have to make things harder for him than it already is!"

"Because he's half of me, Bulan! He deserves to know where he came from! He deserves to know his father's native tongue. It's only right!"

"Not on this island, it's not! He doesn't deserve to be ridiculed and teased by his peers because of who he came from!"

"That's our fault, not his. I get that. But punishing him by making him into something he isn't? How is that fair?"

"I only want what's best for our son!"

"So, you decide to try to erase a part of who he is and deny me as his father? I've turned my back on _God_ for my son…"

"No one asked you to be a martyr. You should've been like all the other priests that came and left this island with bastard children in tow. No one wanted you here and I didn't need you here. I was fine without you deciding to stay and making my life harder."

"It's always about you! That's what frustrates me about you! It's always about what _Bulan_ wants, what _Bulan_ needs. But never about what _our son_ wants, what _our son_ needs. Our son needs to know who his father is, our son needs to know where parts of him came from, what personality traits he's inherited. You may dress him up, force him not to talk to me in Spanish, hell, darken up his skin to look like yours, but he will always be half of me. You can't hide or change his eye color. Because what Rakyat warrior has _green eyes like mine_?"

Malachi's eyes come into view, and it sets ice in Dominique's stomach. They're icy mint green, bright and boring into Dominique's soul. It was all starting to come together…

Green eyes…

Curly hair…

A light-skinned boy and a dark-skinned girl standing side by side in the photograph she held in Vaas' room…

Dominique finds herself walking towards the frightened boy, hand touching his shoulder. She peers over to look at his face, and mashes her hands against her face to hide her horror.

It's him.

Oh, God, it's…

" _Vaas!"_

The boy looks up at Malachi.

" _Si, Papa_?"

"Show your mother what I've taught you."

Her world crumbles and she's falling.

Memories of Vaas' childhood speed past her in blurs, television sets changing to memory after memory through Vaas' eyes. His birthdays, his tournament wins, his brawls, his crimes, his moments of weakness and vulnerability, all broadcasted for Dominique in vivid technicolor. She watches helpless as that innocent boy becomes a monster she'd known and have grown to hate.

She crashes through a window and lands on a soft bed, her body glowing in purple neon lights. It reeks of smoke, gunpowder, and death; she sees a large television screen click on to Vaas, older and more crazed, fighting against her neighbor, Jason.

" _You, are me. And I, am you."_

"… _Accept me as your savior. Nail me to the fucking cross and let me be REBORN!"_

Jason grabs the blade and slices through Vaas with a few barbaric jerks…

That scar on Vaas' abdomen. It all makes sense.

…Vaas is left behind, his body dragged by some of his men and thrown on the stretcher…

"I can't believe it…Vaas is dead!" one of them say, sliding off his beret and putting it to his heart.

"May our boss… _finally_ …rest in peace. Let's give him a proper burial…let's cremate him and avenge his death by killing Snow White…"

Vaas draws in a breath, coughing up blood.

"I..kill…Jason…Kill…Jason…" he grabs the man by his shirt. He coughs blood in his face and collapses.

"He…he's alive. I don't know how, but he's still breathing."

"Quick! We need to help him!"

"Why," Dominique screams at the television, "why are you showing me this!"

The television cuts off leaving her in darkness.

" _And the boy grew to be a man who's picking himself up after a fall from grace. He became a man struggling to find his wings again."_


	26. Chapter 26: Mercy

Chapter 26:

Mercy

Vaas crouches low in the dirt, hand posed over his machete. An insect crawls up a tree, oblivious to its possible threat. But that's not what Vaas is after. He's after the sap that the tree secretes. The sap halts the toxin from doing any further damage; all he needs is the mucus of an Amanaki frog and the fruit of…what was that damn fruit? Vaas can't remember.

Dominique snores softly in his ear. She's not bad as a human backpack.

At least she's warm.

"Fuck me, man. You just had to get pricked by a plant that's antidote requires more work than it's worth." He muses. He stands up, Dominique's weight supported by the wrap around his waist. He slides out the machete and after checking for any possible threats gets to work.

Cutting the bark with three clean slices, he collects the sap into an empty liquor bottle he found and secures it tightly with a leaf and piece of string. Before he could put it in the satchel it slips from his fingers and splatters against his feet. Vaas slices through foliage with manic swipes, sleep deprivation taking its toll on his body. It's never been this bad; normally he'd sleep at least an hour a day and still function, but restless nights of keeping watch over his slowly dying mate (captive?) have cost him much needed rest. He's exhausted, hungry, frustrated, and most importantly, at his wits end. Dominique is going to die, and despite him trying to get the ingredients, it's no use. He can't save her, but he knows somebody that can.

"You are so fucking lucky you saved my life, Dominique." He says, swatting her ass.

"So fucking lucky."

* * *

He eyes the road ahead, trying to mentally prepare himself for the hell he's going to put himself through.

"Okay," he tells himself.

"Let's get this shit over with."

He reaches the entrance to the small community and takes a deep breath. It's been years since he'd set foot here; he stopped coming when he was eight. The church stands strong, despite evidence of a failed bombing.

He marches in, scanning his surroundings. It's a ghost-town; there were no children, no wary parents, even the animals are nowhere in sight.

Before he could get any closer, his ankle trips on a wire and within seconds he feels a sharp pain in the back of his skull and everything goes black.

* * *

"Vaas Montenegro. What a pleasant surprise."

Vaas comes to. A woman holds him at gun point, the glint of her cross blinding his right eye from sunlight. He's surrounded; guns and knives jammed into his face and neck, even while he holds his hands up in surrender.

"Could've sworn we made a treaty stating that you set foot on our turf it's grounds for war, brother. State your purpose and it better be a good one." A man cloaked in his preacher's best says with a grave voice, his rifle cutting into Vaas' cheek.

"Times have changed, Padre. We got an American terrorist slaughtering our people by the thousands. More bodies than I could've ever racked up alone. I'm going to handle it, but I need a favor." Vaas says, finger pointing towards Dominique's unconscious body lying beside her.

"She's dying. She's been hit with Fever Lily. You can help her. I need you to save her life and keep her out of my way while I handle that American fuck."

"The day I see you save someone's life is the day I see Hell freezing over. What's changed?" the preacher asks Vaas.

"These are different times. We're at war."

"Well, would you look at God. He never fails to amaze me." The preacher says, eyebrows raised.

"We got your word that if we help her, you'll leave us alone?" a woman asks.

"You know me, Maria. You know how I am about my word." Vaas replies. Maria lowers her gun and kneels beside Dominique, fingers checking for her pulse.

"She's dying, Father. We need to tend to her and quickly." She tells the preacher.

"What is she worth to you, Vaas?" he asks Vaas.

"She's harmless. Couldn't squish a fly if she wanted to." Vaas answers.

"That's not the question. What is she worth to you?"

"A debt."

The preacher pauses, eyes scanning Vaas' frame before lowering his gun. The rest of his people follow, guns withdrawn. Vaas finally lowers his hands and stands up.

"Kingston and his men came by hours ago. We fought them off into a hasty retreat. They will come back, with more ammo, more soldiers, and more explosives. I can't guarantee your friend will be safe here for long." The preacher warns.

"Guess I better haul ass, then." Vaas replies. He retrieves his machete and vanishes into a hut nearby, seeing rows upon rows of weapons.

"They're still here. Just how I left them." Vaas muses.

"Understand you open fire you'll be gunned down swiftly. I got guns aimed right at you, waiting for the signal." The preacher warns.

"Let me guess…Ricardo in the bushes 5 yards away, two gunmen hiding in the shadows, one disguised in the foliage right in front of me, and…is that…Camilla and Radon…15 yards to the left, peeking out through the church windows?"

"Sharp eye. After all those years, you haven't lost your touch."

"I never lose my touch. You know this, Padre."

"Before you go, you might want to wash up. You're stinking up the place with your offensive stench."

"How do I know you won't try to kill me?"

"We've known each other since you were six. You know if I wanted you dead, I'd have gunned you down without a second thought."

"Very un-Catholic of you, Padre."

"Never bothered you before."

Vaas chuckles.

"Clothes will be in the church, underneath the pew. It hasn't been worn in ages, so it might not fit you exactly."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Vaas winks at him. The preacher rolls his eyes.

"Be out of here in an hour. We need to start tending to our _guest_."

Vaas finds himself staring at his reflection, a new man staring back.

Weeks upon weeks of dirt, sweat, and grime have vanished. He wears a black cotton t-shirt with tan cargo pants that stop at his knees. His mohawk is washed away, leaving a mass of loose curls he ties back with string. His stubble had been shorn away using a machete and diligent patience.

This Vaas looks younger, saner, cleaner. He couldn't believe the reflection is him.

"It's time." The preacher calls. Vaas walks out of the church, hands fisted in his pockets.

It's time for war.


	27. Chapter 27: Rest

Rest

Dominique woke to a blinding white light and a pounding headache.

Disoriented, she tries to make sense of her surroundings, struggling to get up. Eyes focus in on aged wood and a dingy cross front and center with Jesus looking down at her in pity.

"Vaas," she croaks out, her throat screaming for water.

"Vaas," she tries again. The only response is a few birds chirping in the distance.

Clutching the leg of a pew, she hoists herself up, only to fall flat on her stomach when she takes a step, shocks of unbearable pain shooting through her legs.

"Vaas! Vaas!" she starts to cry out, crawling to the open doors.

She lands on red dirt and patches of grass, rolling onto her back for the sun to glare in her face.

"Vaas," She whispers, before losing consciousness.

"…Father, I don't know how she managed…"

"…Gave her enough morphine to kill a full-grown elephant…"

"…Strap her to the bed in my chambers…"

Dominique calls out, but her voice is gone. Gone was the harsh sun cooking her skin, gone was the smell of earth, gone were the splinters eating into her flesh. Her body is strapped down and floating, floating in a haze of greens and browns, fickle temperatures and smells that vaguely remind her of the man who'd up and left her for dead. She drifted off to a memory of her father tucking her in at night, another memory of a happy birthday text from Anika in a time that feels so far away. She hears a lullaby, taste the refreshing cool of ice cold water and thanks every god she knew for such a blessing. She says thank you more times than she could remember until her tongue goes numb and she greets darkness with a smile.

* * *

"…That's it. Open your eyes. There you go…"

She comes to.

A man in a vicar suit greets her, sitting on the back of a chair, large hands wiping the sweat from her brow.

"You'd been out for six days. By the grace of God we managed to keep you alive."

"Where am I?" Dominique asks. She jerks her body upright, only to slam back into the mattress, the springs groaning at the movement.

"You're in my office." He answers.

"Who are you?" she asks.

"I'm Father Ezekiel. You have a lot of questions, and I'll answer them in time. Right now, you need to rest."

"Why can't I get up?" Dominique bucks and twists against the restraints, but it only makes it tighter.

"Let me go. I wanna get out of here right now…"

"That wouldn't be a smart idea I'll promise you that. You just survived a poisoning, which caused damage to your spinal cord and legs."

"What are you saying?"

"You might…you might not be able to walk again."

"This is a joke. There's no way…"

"I wish it was, my dear. That poison has been in your system for days, worsening the effects. The damage you took? You're lucky to be alive."

"This…no, no, no…" Dominique breaks down in tears.

"Your body is going to go through the motions ridding the rest of the toxins from your body. We did the best we could giving you an antidote, but recovery is the hard part. You need to rest."

"How will I get around? I…I can't be of use if I can't walk! I'm a sitting duck!"

"That's something you'll need to figure out on your own. Vaas just told us…"

"Where is Vaas. Where is he?"

"He's off doing whatever it is he does."

"So…he dumped me off on you guys."

"He _saved your life_. He took you to us because he knew we had experience with that Fever Lily."

"Why? Why did he do this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. He said it was a debt he owed you."

"Bullshit. Why miss out on a chance to get rid of me?"

"I've known Vaas since he was a young boy. The things he does makes sense to no one but him. I'll keep you safe for as long as I can, however," Father Ezekiel narrows his eyes, "I don't do this for free."

"For the love of _God_ , I'm a _hostage_ , _miles_ away from home. Whatever money I had Vaas and his crew _stole_ it." Dominique yelled, banging her head against the pillows. Father Ezekiel holds her down by her shoulders, his grip warning her to control herself.

"I don't want your money. I want answers."

"What do you want to know? I will tell you _everything_ , I just want this fucking nightmare to end."

"Vaas. Who is he to you?"

"He's my captor. He kidnapped me and my friends and kept us here on this island. I just want to go home." Dominique sobs, "I just want to go home."

"You ever killed anyone?"

"No."

"How long have you been on this island?"

"I don't know."

"You know anything about Gaston and his crew."

"I just know Vaas wants them gone and they harmed my friend Mike."

"What is your name?"

"Dominique. Dominique Price." Dominique sniffles.

"You to be trusted, Dominique?"

"I just want to go home, Father. What reason do I have to cross you, a man of God at that?"

Father Ezekiel cracks a smirk.

He rises from the chair, pats the bed Dominique lies on and says, "I'll see you soon."

* * *

 **AN: Thank you so much for your patience and showing love to my story! I know this chapter is a long time coming, but I thank you so much for reading! Thank you!**


End file.
